


cherry bomb

by bizarrebird



Series: Diner AU [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, more characters and couples to be tagged later probably, rvbrarepairweek, shitty diner au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-29 11:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10853529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/pseuds/bizarrebird
Summary: Blood Gulch isn't a big town, but sometimes it feels like the whole damn world, and Carolina's let herself get lost in it. The journey back to being a real person, isn't an easy one, but with a locksmith and an army veteran, along with a diner full of friendly idiots at her side, she might just make it.





	1. Carolina

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a loose follow up to pour some sugar on me, obviously set in the same universe, but with a different focus. I've never written Carolina's POV before, so I'm sorry if that's a little rough. I'm not sure how long this will be, because I can't write anything short. At the moment I'm thinking three or six chapters, but we shall see.

“This is… this is ridiculous. Sir, with all due respect, I can’t just look the other way on this."

The papers splayed on the desk between them are too damning. If Carolina hadn’t seen them with her own eyes, she never would have believed it. Well, that’s not quite true. It’s easy to not believe in things you don’t see. But there it is in black and white, the proof she’s been denying for… an embarrassingly long time.

Leonard Church Senior barely blinks at her as he glances up from his computer and then down at the papers. “And what exactly do you find so ridiculous, Carolina?”

She just stares at him, her mouth falling open. How can he just sit there? It doesn’t even sound like he cares.

That’s because he doesn’t, says a part of her brain that sounds just like Leo. He doesn’t care about a goddamn thing. He never has.

Carolina grabs a few pieces of paper at random. It doesn’t matter which, honestly. They’re all equally damning. “You’ve been embezzling, and paying people off, and investing in--these companies can’t be legitimate. Sir, this is… are you even going to deny it?”

“I fail to see what that would accomplish,” he says flatly, already returning to whatever he’s working on.

She wants to put his face through the damn monitor. But she knows how that would go. The files on Wash are there along with everything else. It strikes her then that she doesn’t have to wonder… she’s absolutely sure he would do just the same to her. His own daughter and she knows for damn sure he wouldn’t even hesitate.

Because he doesn’t care. About her. About any of it.

“I quit.” The words tumble from her lips almost thoughtlessly.

That at least makes him look up, one brow rising ever so slightly. Oh, now she’s surprised him. Of course.

Carolina steps back, lifting up her hands. “I’m not going to be part of this anymore, not for another second. I’m done.”

For the first time in years, her father looks at her with something other than vague disinterest in his eyes. There’s curiosity there as he tips his head slightly to one side. “And you’re not threatening to turn me in? To expose all this?”

She can’t stop herself from scoffing as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Would that do any good? I know your lawyers--Price was my mentor for years. Knowing him, if I go to the police with any of this, they’ll show up at my door the next day to arrest me for all of it instead.”

And maybe they should. It’s not a pleasant thought, but… she’s signed off on things she shouldn’t have. She’s cut corners where it was necessary, not looked too closely at things that had bright red warning flags all over them. There’s excuse after excuse to explain it, but that doesn’t make her any less complicit.

Because she should have known all along. It’s not as though the signs weren’t there. York and Leo have been right all along. And they’re never going to let her hear the end of that.

“Well now, aren’t you clever?” He’s not denying it. For some reason, her father smiles as he leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers. “So… is that all then? You’re just going to walk out that door?”

Carolina squares her shoulders. “Are you going to stop me?”

He regards her for a few long moments before leaning forward and hitting the intercom button on his desk. “Phyllis? Would you mind sending up security to escort Carolina from the building?”

_“Of course, sir.”_

“Thank you, Phyllis.” He moves back to his computer, not sparing her so much as another glance. “I will be expecting a formal letter of resignation, Carolina. There is a proper procedure to these matters.”

She grits her teeth, hands curling into fists at her sides. He has to be so damn casual about it. “It’ll be on your desk by Monday.”

“And may I remind you that you’ve been driving a company car?”

It takes all her willpower not to throw the key at him. Face carefully blank, she drops it on his desk along with the pin pulled a little too roughly from her lapel. Just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of asking for that next.

Carolina turns when the door opens. She’s half surprised it’s just Niner there, not one of the new, massive security guards. That’s probably Phyllis’s doing. For someone so devoted to her father, Phyllis has her heart in the right place. Mostly.

Niner’s doing her best to look intimidating, like Carolina doesn’t know exactly how to get her giggling in five seconds flat. They lock eyes for the briefest of moments before Carolina squares her shoulders and strides out of the office. The door shuts behind them. She wants to think her father is still in there somewhere, that he’s sighing and pulling off his glasses, telling Phyllis to hold his calls while he thinks about how he’s gotten to this point.

It’s almost certainly not the case, but it does help ease the anger simmering in her veins a little. But it’s not enough, not even close.

Carolina waits until they’re several hallways away before she drives her fist into the wall. Taking a few deep breaths, she shakes her hands out. It’s not entirely surprising to find Niner a few feet away, staring at her, arms crossed, looking rather unimpressed. “You good now?”

Flexing her fingers, Carolina shakes her head as she follows Niner to the elevator and hits the button with a little too much force. “Not really.”

“At least you just dented it this time. You wouldn’t believe the way the maintenance guys bitched last time you knocked a hole in the wall,” Niner says, snorting.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding and Carolina lets Niner pull her along with a gentle tug. They’re up on the top floor, so they’re going to be there a while. Knowing Phyllis, she knows exactly which elevator they’re in and she’ll make sure that it only makes one stop. So Carolina lets out a breath and leans against one of the walls, pressing her forehead to the cool metal.

“He’s a monster,” she says after a few moments.

Niner snorts again. She leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed over her chest. “You say that like it’s news. Oh wait, are we doing that thing where we pretend he’s got his reasons? Because I only agreed to do that on the holidays and when I need a raise.”

Carolina shoots her a glare, but her heart isn’t in it. But Niner knows her too well, and the derisive expression on her face softens a little. “Cee, don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what. Beating yourself up for the things he’s done isn’t gonna help anyone. The best you can do is try to change things from the inside.”

Not looking at her, Carolina carefully fights down a wince as she idly rubs at her bruising knuckles. “Actually, that’s no longer an option.”

Niner’s brow furrows. “What? Why the fuck not?”

“I quit.”

“Huh… well, guess you could also do that.” She pauses there, scratching at her head and Carolina knows it’s only because they’re practically sisters that Niner isn’t calling her stupid and telling her to go right back up to her father’s office.

But Niner understands, well, as much as anyone who hasn’t spent their entire life under her father’s thumb can. She’s seen enough. So it’s not entirely surprising when she crosses the elevator and gently grabs Carolina’s shoulders. “Then get the hell away from this place. And don’t look back. Just go home, hang out with your boyfriend, and put all this behind you.”

Carolina can’t stop herself from wincing this time. Niner sighs. “What Cee?”

“York and I are… on a break. Again.”

“Jesus Christ.” Her hands dropping away, Niner takes a step back and runs her fingers through short, closely cropped hair. “What was it this time?”

“He was… trying to tell me I should quit.” She looks at the elevator floor because she knows the face Niner is making and she can’t blame her for it. “We were just talking about it, and he brought up Wash and I was… I was so frustrated with him, I said… god, I said he only cared about that because of Tex and I…”

Maybe it’s because just after that fight, she finally let herself fall down the rabbit hole and she had gotten so preoccupied, but she hasn’t given herself a chance to think about the fight. About the look on York’s face when he had gotten up and said he needed to take a break. Carolina can count the texts she’s sent him since then on one hand. And that was weeks ago now.

She tips her head back against the wall. “I really screwed up this time, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you kinda did. And I don’t get off for another six hours, so you’re going to have to find someone else to attend that pity party of yours,” Niner says, sounding almost regretful about that second part, as the elevator finally stops and the doors slide open. They’re not touchy, they never have been, so it’s a little jarring when Niner links her arm through Carolina’s and leads her along to the front door.

“Look, Cee, you fucked up, but you don’t have to deal with this place anymore. So just… go home and take some time to get your shit together. This is the first time in… what fifteen years you’ve been unemployed?”

“Oh god.” For some reason, putting it that way hits Carolina like a wrecking ball to the gut. She’s been working straight since college. There’s always been a new job before she left the one before. Suddenly, she’s very glad for Niner’s arm through hers, holding her steady because the world is very off balance, spinning and shifting around her.

Niner seems to understand and gently pats her hand. “Go home. Call York, or don’t, but just… look call someone. Someone that isn’t me. I’m gonna have to put up with your whining for weeks, I can tell, so pick someone else tonight.”

That gets a snort of a giggle out of Carolina, but the world feels no more steady. The concern in Niner’s eyes is impossible to miss. “Do I need to call you a cab or something?”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll call someone.” Stubborn as she is, Carolina doesn’t feel like walking all the way home. She takes a breath, trying to force herself calm. It sort of works and she’s able to manage a tight lipped smile for Niner. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

“You better,” Niner says, pointing her finger warningly. She lingers for a brief moment longer before turning away and heading back to the elevator.

Carolina takes another breath as she pushes open the massive front door. It’s not really cold outside, it never is, but there’s a breeze that makes her shiver. Taking a few steps back, she turns and looks up at the massive building. Every floor is built on lies and the broken backs of people like Wash and it makes her stomach turn.

God, she had been _proud_ , so damn proud when her father had made her an executive, offered her real sway in the company. Finally, a chance to really prove herself, to put all her experience to work. And where had it gotten her? What had she really helped do?

Forcing her eyes away, she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts. Her finger hovers over York’s name. She hasn’t heard his voice in weeks. And that hits her like a truck. It would be so easy to call him, to admit she had been wrong.

But he’s the one that walked out. He wanted the break. She can’t go crawling back, begging him to change his mind.

Even if she knows she wouldn’t have to, that he would sweep her into his arms in a second, without even thinking twice. Because that’s what he does. He always wants her back, no matter how many times she pushes him away.

She can’t. Not yet. Not now. She needs to… to put things back together. Build herself up again. Try to remember what it’s like to be a person.

So she scrolls back up.

There’s no way she’s calling Church. His ‘I told you so’s would be even worse than York’s, who’d probably stop with that as soon as he got bored. Leo would never stop.

Tucker’s disconnected from the situation, and, for all his obnoxious jokes, he’s good about not making emotional things any worse than they already are. But he can’t keep his mouth shut. And he probably doesn’t need to drive halfway across town on a school night.

South would never stop with snide comments about the Wash situation. Which… alright, she probably deserves, but Carolina’s so not in the mood for that.

A name catches her eye and she hesitates. Carolina’s been trying to be more social, or well, she had been until a few weeks ago when getting to the bottom of what her father had really been doing consumed every part of her life. But before that, she had forced herself to introduce herself to her new neighbor. And… it hadn’t gone as poorly as she had expected. She’s not sure if they’re friends, but they’re something close to it.

Carolina takes a breath and hits call. The phone rings twice before there’s an answer. “Hello? Carolina? Is everything okay?”

For some reason, there’s a sudden burst of nerves that has her tucking flyaway pieces of hair behind her ears. “Hi Kimball. Yeah, everything’s fine. Well, sort of. I’m sorry to bother you so late.”

“Don’t worry about it, I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Did you need something?”

Carolina lets out a sigh and fights back a wince. “Actually, yes. Would you mind giving me a ride? I’m stranded at work and I hate to bother you with this--”

“I’m already getting in the car. Text me the address and I’ll be right there.”

“Alright. Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just buy me a coffee and we’ll call it even.”

“I’d be happy to. See you soon.” There’s a smile on her face as she hangs up and quickly texts the address. And then Carolina has to pause. Did she just… was that Kimball asking her on a date?

No… no, it’s just repaying a favor with coffee. That’s normal. That’s what friends do. Isn’t it? God, she needs more friends. And Vanessa Kimball is nice and relatively normal compared to most of the people she usually hangs out with.

She’s also very pretty. Which isn’t something Carolina should be thinking about. Not when she has York. Because… she still has him, doesn’t she? They really, really need to communicate more about what their ‘breaks’ mean.

But this is just about the worst time to be thinking about any of this. Stress is still tugging her in a dozen different directions. There’s too many things to think about--she needs to find a new job, rent doesn’t pay itself. And she needs to get a car. Or figure out how the bus line works. Too much to do.

Carolina doesn’t even notice the small blue minivan pull up until a soft car horn drags her out of her thoughts. The window’s rolled down and Kimball’s offering her a little wave. Taking a breath, Carolina shoves a smile onto her face and rounds the car to climb into the passenger’s seat. She shoots Kimball a grateful look as she pulls on her seatbelt. “Thank you again. I’m sorry about this it’s just--I usually drive a company car, but… I don’t exactly work there anymore.”

Kimball’s eyes widen a little, taken aback. “Jesus. They just took your car?”

“It wasn’t really mine, but yes, they did.”

Starting up the car, Kimball shakes her head. “Your boss must’ve been a real douchebag.”

Carolina can’t stop herself from snorting. “You’re not wrong. But I’m… I’m going to try to just put that behind me.”

“Fair enough. Sounds like you’re better off that way. Have you eaten? We could get something on the way back. I know this little diner that just started staying open late.”

For a moment, Carolina nearly says no. She probably should. Kimball isn’t quite her friend, but she could be. There’s something about her that’s extremely calming, and those deep brown eyes have a shocking amount of warmth to them.

Her stomach also picks that moment to remind her that she hasn’t eaten since that morning, and even that was just half a granola bar. Slowly, she nods. “Alright, sure. I can’t remember the last time I had diner food.”

Because it’s usually so terrible, it’s not even worth the pathetically cheap prices, says a horrible part of her brain that sounds just like her father and his inability to stomach anything that doesn’t cost more than most people make in a year. But she doesn’t have to impress him anymore. She doesn’t have to choke down caviar and survive on the tiniest portions possible so he doesn’t make casual comments about how she’s so clearly letting herself go.

Diner food sounds like the best thing in the world now that Carolina’s thinking about it.

* * *

The diner is… a little worn down. Paint peels from the walls and Carolina’s sure after a glance that the upholstery in the booths must be older than she is. But that’s not the first thing that catches her eye. As she follows Kimball in, her eyes go to the waiter behind the counter and she freezes. “Tucker?”

He stills where he’s standing behind the register, blinking at her for a few long moments,his brow furrowing. “Carolina? The fuck are you doing in here?”

Kimball pauses a little awkwardly, hovering near the counter. “You two know each other?”

Tucker nods and moves to grab two menus. “Yeah, her brother’s the grumpy guy that likes to take all the coffee. You want your usual booth, Nessa?”

“Ah, you know, now that you mention it, I think I see the resemblance,” Kimball says, glancing back at her, slight smile on her face. “And sure, but I’ll probably just take the usual.”

“Can do.” Tucker jots something down on his notepad as he walks out from behind the counter and leads them to a little booth toward the back.

There aren’t too many other customers, but it is rather late. Most of the occupied tables are full of college students, a few nodding or waving to Kimball as they pass. Kimball takes the side of the booth that puts her back to the far wall, her eyes flicking around the diner, lingering on every window and door. Now that brings back old memories.

“So,” Carolina says slowly, once Tucker’s left them be to go check on the other tables. “How long did you serve?”

Kimball’s eyes widen for a moment, before the corner of her lips turns up. “Five years. I was discharged… two years ago now. Is it that obvious?”

“Not really. But I know the look. My mother served too, she hated sitting anywhere she couldn’t put her back to the wall. My father would always call ahead to reserve a table in the corner whenever we ate out.” She doesn’t mean to sound wistful, but a hint of nostalgia creeps into her voice.

“It’s a hard habit to break.” Kimball shrugs a little sheepishly, toying with the silverware. There’s scars on the backs of her hands Carolina’s never noticed before. She can’t help wondering if those, or the one on her face running from temple to chin has anything to do with that discharge. Maybe it’s best to save those questions for later. “I don’t have to bother here though. They’d probably let me sit in the kitchen if I asked.”

“It does seem pretty… relaxed here,” Carolina notes, glancing around the place. One of the other waiters is sitting at a table a few feet away, chatting animatedly with a few of the customers, and Tucker’s up at the counter, phone in hand, typing away.

There’s a wry smile on Kimball’s face as she nods. “You’re not wrong. The food is good though, as long as you don’t mind it taking a little while to show up. I only started coming here last year after they got a new chef. All the kids at New CC couldn’t stop talking about this place, so I thought I should come see what all the fuss was about.”

“That’s the community college, right?” Carolina’s almost certain she’s talked to Kimball before about what she does for a living. Something to do with… was it coaching or counseling at the community college. That had been the time Kimball had stopped to talk to her after getting back from jogging. It had been a very good, very distracting look.

“That’s the place. They keep changing the name every other semester because no one can agree on everything. Right now it’s ‘The New Blood Gulch City Junior College for the Community’.”

Carolina just blinks at her. “Well, that’s… a mouthful.”

Kimball snorts. “You’re telling me. New CC is much easier. And it sounds a little less pretentious than Chorale Academy, which all the kids love.”

Having left the state for college, Carolina’s only familiar with the local university through word of mouth. However, she’s seen plenty of the university buildings around town… and the rather unflattering posters often stuck to the windows of said buildings. So she’s fairly sure that there’s some sort of rivalry going on that probably makes perfect sense to the people involved.

“I see. Of course, you’re above that sort of thing, obviously.” There’s a hint of a tease in her voice.

Kimball’s lips twitch as she sits up a little straighter in her seat. “Obviously. I wouldn’t even think of supporting such a silly rivalry. Even if they do plan all their big events the exact same days we set ours. And threaten us with lawsuits for stealing their mascot, which they can’t prove we did.”

Carolina presses a hand to her mouth to stop a laugh slipping out. “Right, of course you wouldn’t get involved with any of that. But… did someone really steal the mascot?”

Casting a surreptitious glance around, Kimball leans a little closer over the table. “You never heard me say any of this…”

By the time Tucker comes over to ask if they want anything to drink, Carolina has both hands pressed to her mouth and her shoulders are shaking with barely suppressed laughter. She gets enough of a grip to order the greasiest burger on the menu, which both Tucker and Kimball highly recommend. Because fuck it. Her father’s had her counting calories since high school, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

He doesn’t matter anymore. And that’s an intensely freeing thought.

There’s still a surge of guilt, that unpleasant, nagging voice in her head despairing over the grease and the fat. But it’s not so loud that she can’t push past it to order a milkshake too. Tucker nods his approval before heading back toward the counter and into a door that Carolina assumes leads to the kitchen.  

He returns sooner than expected with a burger the size of Carolina’s head and a massive stack of pancakes for Kimball. “If you guys want anything else, I’m pretty sure there’s a bunch of eclairs or something about to come out.”

Carolina blinks at him, brow furrowing. “You serve pastries? I didn’t see that on the menu.”

Tucker shrugs. “Yeah, that stuff never goes on the actual menu. Our chef just makes that shit when he’s got extra time. He’s a stress baker.”

“I think I’m alright. But… if I could get a few to go when we leave?” Kimball sounds as though she’s done this before.

With a little grin, Tucker nods. “Can do.”

And he’s off, back to the counter, leaving the two of them be. Carolina just stares at the burger for a moment. It’s… a little daunting now that she’s got it right in front of her. There’s probably more calories in that monster than she usually eats in an entire day. Bacon and cheese and a fried egg and a pile of french fries, that’s really just downright unnecessary. She glances over at Kimball, who’s eating the whipped cream smiley face off the top of her pancakes.

She takes a breath and dives in. The first bite is almost too much. Every part of it is perfect. It’s greasy and messy, but the bacon is crisp and the egg breaks under her teeth, and every individual layer is like a note in a symphony. Carolina just barely holds back a moan. “Oh my god.”

Kimball’s already grinning at her. “Right? Just wait until you try the eclairs.”

They fall back into easy conversation until the bill comes and Carolina almost has to wrestle it away from Kimball. “You picked me up. I know you said coffee, but I think this is a better trade.”

With a sigh, Kimball relents, sitting back in the booth, holding up her hands in surrender. “Fine, but I’ll get it next time.” She pauses. “If there is a next time.”

“Well, I definitely need to come back here again,” Carolina says slowly, signing off on the bill. “And I might have to ask for a few more rides. So… I wouldn’t be opposed to a next time.”

The smile Kimball gives her makes Carolina’s stomach flip for a reason that has absolutely nothing to do with the massive amount of grease and cheese in her system. That might be a problem. But Kimball’s just being friendly. Isn’t she?

Carolina tries to push the thoughts from her head as she follows Kimball toward the counter.

“Just gotta grab those eclairs before we head out,” Kimball says over her shoulder. But the door to the kitchen opens and Carolina stops so suddenly, she almost stumbles.

It’s been years, and she doesn’t remember those dark circles under his eyes or the scar across his face, but there’s no mistaking those storm gray eyes--so like his sister’s--and that mess of freckles. Guilt crashes over her like a wave and her ears start ringing.

“Tucker,” he’s saying, hands on his hips after he sets down the tray of eclairs on the counter, “I thought you said the display case was empty. Where are we supposed to put all these?”

Tucker rolls his eyes. “Dude, there’s like half a pie left in there. We’ve got room. Plus, I already sold half of those,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

Carolina’s blood runs cold as Wash slowly turns to look her way. His eyes widen, mouth stuck halfway open. For a second, the diner feels far too still and quiet. He recovers first, blinking in confusion. “Carolina?”

“Wash? You… work here?” The question tumbles out inelegantly. But she can’t think of anything better. She’s vaguely aware of the fact that Kimball and Tucker are both staring at each other. Sucking in a breath through her nose, she crosses to the counter, though she can’t muster up the nerve to casually lean against it, instead crossing her arms in front of her chest. There’s movement in the corner of her eye and she’s vaguely aware of Kimball stepping up alongside her. Somehow that makes the world feel a little more steady.

Wash hesitates, glancing sideways at Tucker before nodding. “Yeah, uh… I’ve been working here since I got out.”

Carolina feels as though she ate a few rocks to go with that burger, weight settling in the pit of her stomach. She’s seen the files, read the deal he was forced into, remembers every last fucking word she had said defending her father before that. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. And it’s too late to take any of it back.

“Well… it’s good to see you,” she says, almost feeling the words fall flat. “Are you… doing alright here?”

Again, Wash glances at Tucker for some reason. Whatever he sees there makes him steady himself a little. “I am. It might not have five stars, but it’s nice. It has everything I need.”

For some reason, that makes Tucker absolutely beam at him. Wash’s face goes a little pink, but he carries on, casually clearing his throat. “What about you? How are… things?”

“Good,” she says, nodding. “I uh… I quit my job today.”

Wash’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of his head, his pale eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Did something happen?”

Letting out a breath, she tips her head to one side. He sounds concerned. For some reason, she had hoped he would be happy, even vaguely smug she could take. “Sort of. I found some files I probably shouldn’t have and decided that… I couldn’t be a part of that anymore. I only wish I had found them sooner.”

There’s a lot in that that she’s not ready to fully unpack. But Wash nods slowly, like he understands. Carolina almost wants to take it back, because she didn’t mean it as an apology. It’s not nearly good enough to be one. He offers a faint little smile. “Well, at least you’re done with it now. That’s something.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.” She glances at Kimball, who meets her gaze, raising one eyebrow slightly. Like she’s silently asking if everything’s alright. The awkward air is still heavy all around them, but she gives a very faint nod before turning back to Wash, forcing more of a smile into place. “It really is good seeing you, Wash. We should catch up sometime… if you want to.”

Wash looks surprised again, but the faint smile grows a little as he nods. “I’d like that.”

Carolina realizes as he packs up a box of eclairs for Kimball and she follows the other woman out to her car, that she’s signed herself up for what’s probably going to be a severely uncomfortable talk at some point. But she owes Wash that much. And… she’s missed him. It’s slowly sinking in, the memories of a crooked grin that lit up his wild eyes flitting through her head unbidden.

She can’t help wondering if he can still smile like that.

* * *

Kimball’s apartment is right next to hers, so they walk together up from the parking lot. Conversation is easy, naturally moving from one topic to another until they reach their doors. Carolina leans against the doorframe, her face hurting from smiling so much.

“Thank you for picking me up. This was… a lot of fun actually. I didn’t realize how much I needed that.”

“It’s no problem.” Kimball shifts the box under her arm as she digs through her pockets for the key to her door. “I… it was nice having the company. Lately, things have been so busy at work, I haven’t really spent much time with anyone who’s not an undergrad in… an embarrassingly long time, honestly.”

“Then we definitely need to do this again, and soon. My schedule just opened up fairly wide for the foreseeable future, so let me know when you have a night free.” And Carolina will be more concerned about that in the morning. She likes having at least a bit of a schedule. Too much free time is going to drive her insane.

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but I should have some night free later this week. As soon as I figure it out, I’ll text you.” Kimball’s smile softens a little and she reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind Carolina’s ear. Fingers trace over her cheek and send little tingling sparks down her spine.

Before she can think, Kimball’s leaning in and kissing her cheek. Her lips are soft and full and Carolina almost wants to turn her head to catch them.

York’s face flits through her head and she goes completely and utterly still.

Kimball pulls back, her brow suddenly furrowing, lips curling into a frown. “I’m… I’m sorry, I read that wrong, didn’t I?”

Carolina quickly holds up her hands, shaking her head. “No. That wasn’t… It’s just--I’m sort of seeing someone right now. We’re taking a break, but… it’s complicated. I’m so sorry, Vanessa, if I led you on--”

Kimball shakes her head, wincing. “No, it’s my fault. It’s like I said before, I haven’t actually spent time with someone my own age in a very long time. I thought you were flirting.”

“I was. A little bit,” Carolina admits, feeling another rush of guilt and discomfort. “But I shouldn’t have been. I… I really did like spending time with you. Tonight was the most fun I’ve had in weeks, and I’d love to do it again, but… just as friends. If that’s alright with you?”

Kimball manages a smile as she nods, but it looks a little forced. “Of course.” That heavy, unpleasant silence is back. “I should head in. Goodnight, Carolina.”

“Goodnight Vanessa.” Carolina turns away, pulling out her own key and does her best not to flinch when she hears Kimball’s door click shut behind her. She pushes open the door and steps into the apartment.

It’s cold and suddenly far too neat, like she’s barely lived in it for weeks. Which… is just about true. Her room’s a bit of a mess, and she really, really needs to do laundry. But the bubbly energy that had been filling her is suddenly nowhere to be found.

Steps heavy, she moves to the couch and drops down onto it. Pulling up her legs, she grabs the old brown blanket hanging over the back and curls up in it. Deep breaths smell like York, smoke and a faint hint of that stupid cologne clinging to the fabric. It makes her stomach twist, but she keeps the blanket close. She should text him. Or call him. Or just… something.

Her phone is in her hands before she can think. His name is right there. It would be so easy. She doesn’t even have to apologize and he would come rushing back. That thought settles for a second before it makes her sick.

It’s what her father would do.

Carolina can’t count the times they had argued and he had said things that sent her running. But as soon as he opened the door even a little, she would come rushing back. He never apologized, not for a damn thing. She can’t be like him. She won’t.

With a huff, she drops her phone onto the coffee table. It buzzes a second later and Carolina is so, so glad that she lives alone so no one gets to see the way she flops off the couch in a mad scramble to reach it. Rubbing her head, she sits up and snatches the phone off the table.

Her brow furrows at the name on the screen. It rings twice and her finger hovers for a long moment before she finally answers. “Phyllis? Is everything alright?”

_“Oh hello Carolina. I hope I’m not bothering you too late. Everything’s fine. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. The Director informed me that you were no longer working with the company.”_

Letting out a breath, Carolina lets her head fall back against the seats of the couch. “That’s correct. I resigned, but I’m just fine, Phyllis, you don’t have to worry. And tell my fath--the Director that I’ll have my official resignation in as soon as I can.”

_“Of course. I will make sure to pass that along. However, I had another reason for calling. My sister recently left her temporary job and I know the establishment in question is looking for a new accountant. It is a bit below your pay grade, but I’m sure they would be more than happy to have you, even if it is only for a short time.”_

She hesitates. Jumping right into a new job does throw a wrench into her plans to do nothing for a while. But… rent won’t pay itself, and it would be so nice to have her own car as soon as possible.

“Send me the information. Thank you, Phyllis, I really appreciate this.”

_“Of course! I am always happy to help. I will email you the information first thing tomorrow. I hope you have a pleasant evening.”_

“You too, Phyllis.”

Carolina hangs up and stares at the screen as it fades to black. Well… at least there’s one less thing to keep her up at night. Wrapping York’s blanket tight around her shoulders, she forces herself up and shuffles into her room. She sinks onto her bed, phone still in hand. Rolling onto her side, she glares at it for a few long moments before unlocking it to send one message.

_So, dad sucks._

The response is much faster than she expects.

_Jesus fucking Christ, are you just now realizing that?_

_No. Well. Sort of. Don’t rub it in._

That gets more of a pause.

_Okay. What happened?_

Carolina hesitates. Apparently for far too long.

_Sis, come on. What did he do?_

_Nothing new. I found all his secret files and confronted him about it. He didn’t even care that I knew. It didn’t matter._

And there’s a lump in her throat now.

_Sis…_

_I didn’t matter. I told him I knew and that I quit and he didn’t even care._

_He’s a douchebag, Lina. He always has been._

_I know._

_Still sucks._

_No shit, Leo._

_Ughhhh I hate when you call me that. But okay, look. He sucks. Dad’s a total fucking prick. But you got out, right?_

_I did._

_So you don’t have to answer to him anymore. You’re done._

_I’m not sure it’s that simple._

_It could be._

_Maybe. I don’t know. It’s still complicated._

_Is it ever not?_

_Good point._

She shifts, rolling onto her back. Her phone buzzes a few more times.

_So._

_Tucker says you were hanging out with some hot girl._

_Who is she?_

_You finally dump York?_

_Good riddance, the guy’s an ass._

_Sis?_

_Lina?_

_Come on, who was the girl?_

She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

_Goodnight, Leo._

_You’re no fun. Fine. Night._

Carolina lays there for a while longer, too many thoughts floating around her head. She scrolls back through her contacts. York’s name stares at her. He’s the one that walked away.

But she’s the one that pushed him to it.

She takes a breath and sends off one last message: _I’m sorry._

As soon as it sends, she shuts off her phone and tosses it into her nightstand drawer. One more thing to deal with in the morning. It’s been a long, long day. So she rolls back onto her side and shuts her eyes. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it arrives nonetheless. Dreams filled with gentle, scarred hands, and the smell of bad cologne mix together in her head. But one thing keeps coming back, and when she wakes up to the early morning light flitting through her window, Carolina is certain of one thing and one thing only.

She needs another goddamn burger.


	2. Kimball

The air is full of smoke. There’s nothing but static on the radio. No one’s answering. No one is coming to help. Fire licks at her legs as she scrambles, trying to force the beam off her stomach. She can’t move. Can’t breathe. 

An alarm goes off and Kimball jolts up so suddenly, trying to stand. Unfortunately, the tangled mess of blankets wrapped tight around her has other plans. With a thump, she lands a little less than gracefully on the floor. For a moment, she just glares up at the ceiling and debates the merits of spending the rest of the day lying there. 

The alarm’s still going, so after a few moments, she forces herself to sit up and shuts it off. Her leg is aching again. Except that it isn’t. Phantom limbs are a bitch. 

There’s plenty of things like that that don’t end up in the recruiting pamphlets. Weird how that happens. 

With a groan of effort, she hauls herself back up onto the bed and grabs her prosthetic from where it leans against the end of the bed. She fixes it in place and rises slowly. Seeing something there makes her brain a little less sure that her leg should be on fire. That’s something at least. 

She ties her hair back into a neat puff and glares at the bed, which seems to have no intention of making itself. As per usual. Oh well. Not like she’s going to be having anyone over to judge her for it anytime soon. The memories of last night flood in even as she tries her hardest to block them out. 

God, she was a mess lately. It hadn’t been a date. That should have been obvious. Carolina just needed a favor and she had read way too far into things. How hard would it have been to ask if she was seeing someone? Or if she was even interested in women? 

At least it had only been a kiss on the cheek, and now she knows better. 

Trying to push the awkwardness deep down, she leaves the bedroom and spends a valiant five minutes pretending she’s not about to have eclairs for breakfast. Eating right and staying in shape isn’t nearly as easy when you’re not forced to work out almost constantly. But really… after last night, Kimball needs a little pick-me-up. 

They’re not as good as they would be fresh, but there’s something magic about that diner and it only takes a few bites before the air feels a little less heavy. There’s a soft buzzing from the counter where she had left her phone the night before. It’s probably just one of the kids saying good morning. Which is… kind of sweet actually. 

There’s plenty of places Kimball had thought she might end up, but working in the counseling office of a community college isn’t one of them. That had been half an accident. Technically, she isn’t an actual counselor. People need professional training for that, and degrees that aren’t attached to the military. But New CC has never been in the position to pick and choose. 

The phone buzzes again. Probably another one of them texting good morning. Jensen and Smith if she has to guess. They’re the early risers of the bunch, though there’s an occasional ‘good morning’ emoji from Palomo. 

But her phone just keeps buzzing. 

Frowning, she grabs it, brow furrowing as text after text pop up on screen. And then the phone starts ringing, Jensen’s name staring up at her. Kimball answers, ready for the worst. “Good morning Jensen.”

“Coach Kimball, it’s all my fault, I’m so sorry!” Kimball has to yank the phone from her ear, Jensen’s voice almost deafening her. It’s not just her though. There’s other’s in the background, extremely familiar others. 

“Jensen--Katie, slow down. Just breathe, alright? Count to ten and then tell me what’s happening.” Kimball presses a hand to her brow, shutting her eyes, trying to listen to the sounds in the background as Jensen counts. That definitely sounds like Palomo and Bitters in the background. She can’t quite make out the words, but neither of them sound particularly happy. Which… is pretty much normal for Bitters, but if something’s upsetting Palomo, it can’t be good. 

Jensen gets to ten and seems to be breathing normally again. “Sorry coach. Um, we’ve got a problem. We were opening up the gym, but--you know how the door swings shut if you don’t brace it?”

“I do.”

“Yeah, it kinda did that, so, uh, the keys are locked inside, with all our stuff.”

Kimball sighs, although a little of the anxiety leaves her system. That’s irritating, but it’s hardly the first time it’s happened. She’s been trying to get that door problem fixed for months now. Closing up the take out box, she starts gathering up her things. It’s about time to leave anyway. “I was just about to head to campus. I can unlock it for you, just sit tight--”

“Um, yeah, there’s… something else though.”

And she goes still, bag half slung over her shoulder. “What else?”

“Uh… so, you remember how Palomo said he was gonna take back Chorale’s mascot yesterday?”

Oh no. “I remember…”

“He sorta didn’t get around to it. So he brought Santa here and, um, he’s sort of locked in the gym too.”

Kimball lets out a breath and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Of course he is. Is there anything else I should know, Jensen?”

“Um… yeah. So, we were trying to get back in, and Palomo and Bitters were trying to pick the lock. But, um, I think it’s sort of… broken now. Smith and Matthews are trying to get in the back, but I think the windows are up too high, and--”

“I’m on my way there now. Just--try to get them to leave the lock alone, and don’t let Smith try to lift Matthews up to the window again. There’s a number for a locksmith in my office. Call them up and ask them to send someone over as soon as possible. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She’s got her bag on her shoulder and is halfway to the car by the time she hangs up. 

They’re good kids, she tells herself a few dozen times. And they mean well. And at least they just let it loose in the gym and not the counseling office. That would be a complete nightmare. She can handle this. 

* * *

 

Kimball gets there before the locksmith. New CC doesn’t have the biggest campus, but most of the parking is a little inconvenient. She takes her usual spot by the counseling office and crosses the large sprawling lawn that’s probably supposed to make the college seem nice. It might work if the grass wasn’t all long dead. Sprinklers cost money they don’t really have. 

Jensen is twisting her long braids around her hands anxiously as she paces back and forth outside the gym when Kimball strides up. Palomo and Bitters are still messing with the lock, because of course they are. And Smith is attending to Matthews, who has his leg propped up on a pile of backpacks. Just perfect. 

Forcing down a sigh, she strides over. Jensen sees her coming and meets her halfway, nearly stumbling in her rush to get over. “Coach Kimball, I’m so, so sorry,” she says, lisp even more pronounced than usual, eyes wide behind her glasses. “We were just trying to find a place to keep Santa--”

“It’ll be alright, Jensen, just try to breathe, okay?” She gently grips Jensen’s shoulder. “Did you call the locksmith?”

“Yes, ma’am. They said someone was on the way. I think they’re supposed to get here soon.”

Kimball nods to herself. At least that’s one thing taken care of. “Alright, good. Go meet them in the parking lot, I’ll take over here.”

“Yes ma’am.” And Jensen’s off… in the wrong direction. She gets about twenty feet before turning around and correcting herself. 

With a slight sigh, Kimball moves to crouch at Matthews’ side. “What happened?”

Smith and Matthews exchange a slightly guilty look before Smith clears his throat. “We were attempting to gain access to the gym. Unfortunately my footing was not as firm as I had hoped.”

“It doesn’t feel broken,” Matthews says quickly. “I just landed on it funny. It should be fine in no time, ma’am.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” They both wince a little at the slight edge to her tone, but not enough to make her regret it. Maybe next time they’ll actually listen and get themselves hurt. Still, Kimball’s hands are careful as she inspects Matthews’ ankle. It looks a little swollen, but she’s seen far worse. 

Straightening up, she sighs and pulls out her keys, handing them to Smith. “It looks like it might just be sprained. Smith, go to the counseling office and get him some ice. There should be plenty in my fridge.” 

Smith salutes because he’s been out of the army for an even shorter time than Kimball and she’s pretty sure he was a lot more into it than she ever was. At least he usually listens to her, so he starts jogging over toward the office buildings. 

Fairly confident Matthews is staying put, she follows the sound of still bickering voices over to where Bitters and Palomo are still arguing about something. 

“--okay, but if we had a gun, we could just shoot the lock off!”

“That only works in movies, idiot. And we don’t have gun.”

“My grandpa has one, I bet he’d let me use it. I should text him.”

“Palomo!” Kimball doesn’t mean to snap, but when they get going it can be a little difficult to get a word in. “You are  _ not _ shooting the lock. There’s a locksmith on the way. And I thought you said you were taking Santa back?”

“I was going to!” Palomo rocks back and forth on his feet. He’s not the best at staying still. Usually, it’s almost endearing. “But I just… sort of forgot to? So by the time I remembered and tried to take him back, there were a ton of people around.”

Sighing, Kimball drags a hand over her face. “Alright, but you need to take him back first thing tomorrow. As long as he hasn’t destroyed too much of the gym, we can keep him there for the rest of the day.”

“Yes!” Palomo pumps a fist in the air, bouncing on the spot. There’s a huff from Bitters, who looks about ready to tackle him. 

“Coach Kimball!” Jensen’s voice carries through the humid air. Kimball turns and lets out a breath of relief. 

Neither of the men behind her look familiar, but the logo on the shorter one’s shirt is that of the usual locksmith’s place. The shorter one looks more professional, his bright green eyes standing out even behind thick framed glasses. A stark contrast between the slightly taller man, who has one eye that’s clouded over almost entirely, his choice of dress far more casual. The latter offers a wave as they approach. “Heard someone ordered a locksmith?”

“That would be us.” She strides forward, meeting them halfway, offering her hand. “I’m Vanessa Kimball. I assume you’re new.”

The taller man has a firm handshake and a wide grin. “You can call me York, and how’d you guess?” 

“We’re sort of regulars with your business. Undergrads and poorly made locks don’t tend to mix well.” There’s also the fact that the school doesn’t have money for locks that can stand up to someone accidentally turning their key too hard the wrong way, let alone some of the nonsense the students manage to get up to. 

She glances toward the other man, who’s… hanging back a little, engrossed in the tablet in his hands. “I don’t think I’ve met your co-worker before either.”

York glances back at the other man, then leans in conspiratorially toward her. “You can see him too?”

Kimball just blinks at him. It’s too early in the morning for this bullshit. She didn’t even get a chance to have coffee before she left. 

That seems to get the other man’s attention though. Looking up from the tablet, he sighs heavily, looking at York with a flat expression. “I would prefer if you stopped making that joke, York. It is rather tiresome.”

York’s smile is absolutely shameless. “That’s Delta, he has to drive me around.” 

“I see, well, it’s nice to meet you too, Delta,” Kimball says, offering her hand again. 

Delta’s hands are smooth and absolutely freezing. He adjusts his glasses and glances toward the gym door. “I assume that is the lock in question?”

Kimball nods. “That would be the one.”

Checking something off on his tablet, Delta nods. “York, if you would?”

“Can do.” York pulls a few small tools from a pouch attached to his belt and sets to work, humming to himself. He pauses after a moment. “Looks like someone tried to beat me too it.”

There’s an awkward cough from Palomo, who’s taken up a spot leaning against the door. He looks to Bitters, who refuses to meet his eyes, attention fixed on his phone. “Uh… we might’ve tried to get it open.”

York nods, still inspecting the lock. “I can see that. The bobby pins weren’t a bad idea, I’m not sure about the bubblegum though.”

Feeling a migraine coming on, Kimball shoots a look at Palomo, one eyebrow rising. “Really Palomo?”

He shrugs sheepishly. “Well, a lot of the bobby pins broke, and I tried a few staples, but they kinda got stuck, so I thought I could use the gum to pull them out.”

“We were in kind of a rush to get it open,” Jensen chimes in, apparently trying to help. 

“What were you trying to get at in here? If you don’t mind me asking?” York glances around at them, though his hands never stop moving, carefully shifting his tools inside the lock. 

There’s a few exchanged looks before Jensen and Palomo both turn to Kimball. She sighs. It probably doesn’t matter if they tell him. After all, once he gets the door open, there’s probably going to be questions about the mess inside and the pig that made it. “They accidentally locked the mascot of Chorale Academy inside.”

York seems to think about that for a moment, hands very briefly stilling. “Huh, alright, follow up question: why?” 

“Because they never stop bragging about how their mascot is so much better than ours.” Palomo crosses his arms over his chest petulantly. 

Bitters scoffs. “Yeah, that’s not hard. We don’t even have a mascot.”

Kimball has to bite back a smile. “That’s because when everyone voted, the Blood Gulch Flasher won by a landslide.”

“It was a very impressive write-in campaign,” says Smith, returning with the ice for Matthews. 

“That would definitely make pep rallies more exciting.” York spins one of his instruments around a few times and turns the handle. The door opens with a soft click. “And there you go. Do any of you want this gum back?”

Palomo reaches for it, but without looking, Bitters knocks his hand away. At least they’re looking out for each other a little. That’s been a work in progress since she started here. 

The thing about a community college, particularly in a place like Blood Gulch means the students come from literally all walks of life. There’s some like Jensen and Palomo, who are almost straight out of high school. And then there’s others, like Smith and Matthews, who were pulled into the army by the downright ruthless recruiters (the same ones that pulled her in years before) and then left with little help and nowhere to go. Kimball’s not entirely sure what Bitters’ story is, he doesn’t like to talk about himself much, but she’s seen his file and has a feeling that his record isn’t one that most universities would treat kindly. 

And they’re just the ones she’s gotten close to. There’s plenty that come by the counseling office or the gym who are twice her age or more. Others that couldn’t quite make the cut at Chorale Academy, and some that could, but didn’t have the money. They’re misfits, outcasts, and they don’t quite fit together, but there’s nowhere else for them to go.

It’s the perfect place for her, Kimball’s fairly certain. 

“So,” York says, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I believe my work here is done, unless there’s a few more locks you want me to pull gum out of.”

Judging by the shouting going on just through the door, the kids are doing their best to wrangle Santa. There’s several very large crashes that make Kimball wince and York glance toward the door, brow furrowing. She shakes her head. “No I think we’re alright on that front for now. Thank you, how much do I owe you?”

Kimball starts digging through her bag for her wallet, but York is still trying to peer around the door by the time she gets it out. “Do they need any help in there? Y’know, I don’t exactly have anywhere to be--”

“York,” Delta says, a hint of warning in his voice. “I do not believe we would be of much help.”

“Don’t worry about it. We can handle this.” Kimball fights back a wince when there’s another loud crash from inside that sounds like one of the file cabinets going over and possibly exploding on the floor. Damn it. 

The noise makes York jolt a little. “Do they have a bull for their mascot or something?” 

“No, it’s a pig.”

He turns to her, eyebrows shooting up, expression incredulous. “Wait, really? It’s just a pig? I can definitely help with that.”

Kimball blinks at him. He wants to stay and help? Maybe the idea of chasing a pig around for a few hours sounds more fun than going around helping other losers who’ve managed to lock themselves out or their cars or apartments. Well… alright, she could believe that. 

“That’s really not necessary.” There’s another smash and a scream that sounds like Palomo and she sighs. Maybe a few more hands wouldn’t be the worst thing. Kimball glances over York dubiously. “Do you have any experience dealing with pigs?”

He shrugs, that easy smile spreading over his face. “Not really. But c’mon, how hard can it be?”

Kimball’s assumptions that neither York nor Delta had ever been around an actual pig before, are proven right very quickly. Honestly, Santa’s the first one she’s ever dealt with herself, so her experience only outweighs theirs by a few days. The thing about pigs that most people, herself included, don’t think about is just how insanely big they get. 

York curses softly when he sees the massive hog barreling toward them, squealing and snuffling. And Kimball doesn’t blame him. She’s fairly sure that’s the reaction most people would have facing down a five hundred pound shrieking piece of bacon. 

But he doesn’t sprint the other way. Quite the opposite. Faintly shaking his head, he rolls up his sleeves and strides forward, that grin on his face growing ever so slightly. 

It takes almost an hour, but they get Santa curled up and content in one of the old locker rooms. Cleaning up the mess he made in his frantic attempts to get to freedom takes another four hours. The kids tag in and out because Kimball is not letting them miss their classes for this. 

York stays the entire time. At some point, Delta leaves, apologizing, but insisting he has another matter to attend to. Despite apparently being down a ride, York doesn’t seem particularly bothered as he waves him off and then goes back to setting work out equipment back up the right way. 

By the time everything is mostly back where it should be, Kimball’s leg is aching, a fun reminder that the prosthetic doesn’t quite fit the way it should. She leans back against a rack of weights, trying to stretch out her knee as she glances over at York. 

“Thank you for staying to help. I can pay you for the extra time--”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves a hand lightly as he turns toward her. A little wrinkle forms between his brows. “You alright?”

“Just fine.” She wants to rip the prosthetic off and throw it across the room. But then she would just have to hop over and pick it up again. And generally, taking off her leg in front of people tended to receive… mixed reactions. 

Stretching and flexing her knee relieves some of the ache, enough for her to stand up straight again. York still looks slightly concerned, his hands fidgeting at his sides, like he’s not quite sure what to do with them. “Old injury,” she says, carefully casual. “It just acts up sometimes, nothing to worry about.”

“Ah, gotcha.” There’s a sort of understanding in that nod… one that might have a little something to do with his clouded over eye and the scars around it. Kimball tries not to stare at it, her focus quickly moving back to his other eye. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

Kimball frowns a little. “Are you sure I can’t pay you? If you’re losing money by being here--”

“Nah, I’m good. Technically, I’m not supposed to be working today.” He shrugs, wandering over to lean against the rack next to her. “I was just hanging around when your call came in. Heard things get interesting over here, so I volunteered.”

“I see.” That’s honestly not a surprise. With how often they need a locksmith on campus, and all the… unusual activities the students get up to, it makes sense that they would have something of a reputation. Still, she’s not sure she likes it. “Well, that was somewhat nice of you. I hope we lived up to your expectations here.”

“Oh you definitely did, don’t worry about that.” He looks like he’s about to laugh. “I mean, I didn’t exactly expect the pig, but that was way better than getting dragged along to help Dee run his errands all day. Didn’t really figure I’d be here all day watching the show.” 

Kimball can’t decide if York is an asshole or not. He certainly looks like one. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’m glad we amused you.”

There’s a very slight edge to her tone. York seems to catch it immediately, his eyebrows rising as he holds up his hands. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. It just--it seems like the kids have a lot of fun here. It’s nice. I wish things had been more like this at my college. I probably wouldn’t have dropped out if things were this exciting.”

She smiles a little at that, though she almost doesn’t want to. “It’s not always quite like this. Things have just gotten a little… intense lately. We have a big event planned in a few months, so there’s a fundraiser every other weekend now and Chorale Academy has been trying to cut in on every single one.” 

“Seriously?” York frowns, crossing his arms. “Is that why the pig is here?”

“Part of it,” she admits, with a shrug. “Officially though, I have no knowledge that Santa was ever hear.”

“Right, right, of course not.” There’s a little smile back on his face and she can’t quite bring herself to dislike it. “It’s nice of you to help them though. Most teachers I had in college would’ve said I was own. Well, actually any teacher ever, but I was kind of the bad kid, so they had good reason.”

“Oh were you?” She can’t help cocking an eyebrow at that, slight tease in her voice. Kimball’s not sure how that got there. “I never would have guessed.”

He grins wide. “It’s my boyish good looks that probably fooled you, gets ‘em everytime.” 

York is charming and he knows it, but Kimball can’t stop herself from laughing a little as she nods. “That must be it.”

Talking with York is easy. So easy, she doesn’t think to question why he’s still there as he walks back to her office with her. He plops down in a seat on the other side of her desk and they chat for hours. Somehow, it’s like talking with an old friend, though she’s learning new things about him every other sentence. 

Apparently he’s the best locksmith the business has got, not that he likes to brag about it of course, he assures her with a wink. But he’s relatively new and the boss doesn’t like his attitude. Kimball can’t imagine why. Delta’s the one that got him the job. The two of them have known each other since college, and he’s the one that convinced Delta to move to Blood Gulch. 

“He’s got family here actually, although he didn’t mention that until I had my girlfriend over and they both suddenly remembered they never told me they were cousins. Because, y’know, why tell anyone anything about yourself” He shrugs, shaking his head. “Their whole family is like that though. Me though, I’m an open book.”

“I’m realizing that,” Kimball says, feeling herself smile. 

York grins back at her, leaning his chair back on two legs. “What about you? You have any family in the area?”

“None that I speak to anymore.” It just sort of slips out. That’s not the kind of thing she tells people. But then again… people don’t usually ask. “My family has all been military. I joined up like the rest of the good little soldiers, but when I was discharged, well… they weren’t particularly supportive.”

“Ouch.” York winces in sympathy. “That sucks.”

Kimball lets out a snort of surprise as she nods. “You’re not wrong.”

There’s a soft buzz and York shoots her an apologetic smile before tugging his phone out of his pocket. He sighs at the screen. “Well, my ride has decided she’s picking me up now, so I better head out.”

He rises and offers his hand. Kimball gets up out of her chair to take it. “Thank you again for helping earlier.”

“Not a problem. Hopefully the next time you need a locksmith I’m actually working there.” York rocks back on his feet, hesitating for a moment, then he pulls out his phone. “Actually, next time, just call me. I’ll give you a discount. The guys at the shop charge way too much. Here, put in your number.”

Kimball hesitates, hand half outstretched. Her brow furrows a little. “I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“You wouldn’t be a bother. Trust me. I like hanging around here. C’mon.” He wiggles his phone at her. 

With a sigh, she takes it and enters her number before handing it back. “Alright there.” 

“Perfect. Let me just…” He taps at his phone and a second later Kimball’s buzzes in her pocket. “There, now you’ve got mine too. I’ll see you around, Vanessa. Give the pig my love.”

And with a little wave, he’s gone. 

Kimball checks her phone after the door shuts behind him. There’s a text from a new number that’s just several emojis. That shouldn’t be endearing. She should probably delete it and just use the company number like always.

But… their rates aren’t exactly cheap. And York had gotten the door open far quicker than the usual locksmiths. Maybe having him back wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He’s decent company and… well, she could use that since her last attempt at spending time with someone outside of school hours had gone so, so well. 

She should text Carolina. Tomorrow. Maybe.

* * *

She doesn’t text Carolina. But by the end of the next week, Kimball’s called York twice. 

The first time, Palomo borrows her keys and gets them locked inside her office. Kimball only calls him after Smith lifts Jensen up to the window and she gets stuck dangling half on each side. 

York gets the door open in record time and helps her catch Jensen before she tumbles headfirst into the office. Kimball’s half sure Jensen in swooning a little when York carefully sets her down. He hangs around for a while afterward and makes it pleasantly impossible for Kimball to get much work done. 

The next time, she puts off calling him when the locker room door refuses to open, because the kids are trying a little too hard to talk her into it. “You know it jams all the time,” she says, shooting them a wary look. “We’ve never needed a locksmith for this one before.”

“Yeah, but this time, I’m pretty sure it’s locked and I definitely don’t know where the keys are.” Palomo’s grinning a little too much, even after Bitters elbows him in the side. 

Well, that’s not suspicious. She straightens up from where she’s been crouched, trying to wiggle the knob into just the right spot to open. Suddenly, she’s pretty sure there’s a reason why she had definitely gotten it there at least three times, but the door still wouldn’t open. 

Hands on her hips, she looks for the guiltiest face. “Jensen, what is he talking about?”

“Oh, well, um. I’m not sure, ma’am.” She pulls off her glasses and makes a show of cleaning them on her shirt. “But you really should call Mister York and have him come down here, he’s so helpful.”

“And hot! Hey chicka um… shoot, wait, I know this--bow chicka hum hey! Damn it, no.” Palomo trails off, muttering to himself as he pulls out his phone, probably to look for the notes he took the last time he spent time around Tucker. 

Kimball crosses her arms over her chest, eyes flitting over them. Jensen’s still pointedly cleaning her glasses and Bitters and Matthews are suddenly very busy staring at something on the former’s phone. Only Smith will meet her eyes. “Alright, what is this about?”

Smith glances at the others, and Kimball spots at least three frantic heads shaking out of the corner of her eye. He looks back at her and she narrows her eyes slightly more, one eyebrow rising. After a moment, he lets out a slight sigh, shoulders slumping. “We locked the keys inside the locker room.”

“Smith!” Jensen and Bitters snap at him together, looks of betrayal so stark and sudden she almost wants to laugh. 

But know, Kimball’s keeping up the stern stare of disapproval. “And why exactly did you do that?”

“We thought you would call York and possibly… ask him on a date,” Smith says, wincing, shifting on the spot. 

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Kimball shuts her eyes tightly. “Not this again.”

It isn’t the first time they’ve pulled something like this. The kids mean well, she knows they do. But for some reason, they worry about the fact that she doesn’t spend much time with, well… almost anyone outside of them and the other staff members. It had been thanks to them that she started going to the Blood Gulsh Diner regularly. But apparently making friends with a few chatty waiters and very occasionally joining them for poker night isn’t enough now. 

Oh no, now they think she should be  _ dating _ . Of course they do. 

“I’m not going to ask York to go on a date with me. He’s seeing someone. But,” she adds very quickly when she notices an extremely worrying look pass between Bitters and Jensen. “Even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t.”

Palomo’s pouting now. “Why not? He’s hunky!”

There’s a groan from Bitters. “No one says that, idiot. But, seriously, Kimball, why wouldn’t you go out with him? Seemed like you were getting along pretty well. I thought you liked guys--”

“That’s not the issue.” Again, she shuts her eyes and counts to ten in her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m not interested in him that way. Even if he were single… I’m not looking for a relationship right now.”

And that has nothing to do with how she still hasn’t texted Carolina back. Nothing at all. Because having a crush on someone who’s still in a complicated relationship isn’t something she needs. So she definitely doesn’t need to spend anymore time than strictly necessary with ‘too charming for his own good’ York. 

“I’m calling the regular locksmith,” she says, pulling out her phone. Her passcode doesn’t work. Brow furrowing, she inputs it again. It still won’t unlock. Then she looks over at the phone that Matthews has been typing away at for the last several minutes. “You took my phone--when did you...”

“About twenty minutes ago.” Bitters doesn’t sound the least bit sheepish about that, eyes going to the phone. “Switched it while you were trying to get the door open. We’ve been texting York the whole time. I’m pretty sure he’s into you.”

“What?!”

“Oh, and he’s gonna be here in like two minutes.”

“God _ damn _ it, Bitters.”

“Did I say two minutes? I meant two seconds. He’s here now.”

“ _ Bitters _ \--” Kimball cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her face. Just breathe. They’re only trying to help. Sort of. This isn’t even close to the worst thing that they’ve done. 

She holds out one hand. “My phone. Now.”

It drops into her hand and she quickly flicks through the last several text messages. There’s nothing too bad, but… it doesn’t make her feel much better about the fact that York’s literally getting there right this second as his most recently sent text says. Good. Perfect. 

“Alright, I’m going to go clear this up. All of you just… there’s nothing I can say that’s going to make you not eavesdrop, is there?”

“Nope,” says Palomo, popping the ‘p’ shamelessly. 

With a sigh, Kimball faintly shakes her head and strides toward the gym exit. She’s going to have to change the passcode on her phone. Again. This is what she gets for letting them use it in emergencies. They mean well, they really do, but this needs to stop. At least they don’t know about the Carolina incidence. Jensen would never stop going on about how beautiful and romantic they were and she can just hear Palomo’s clever comments. 

That’s the last thing she needs. She looks over the texts again, scanning for anything worrying. It doesn’t look like she’ll have to do too much damage control. Which means Bitters and Matthews probably kept Palomo from helping with the texts for the most part, which is definitely a good thing. She really needs to talk to Tucker about the ‘dating advice’ he’s been giving. 

Kimball’s attention is so fixed on the phone, that she doesn’t realize that someone is trying to pull open the gym door at the exact same time that she pushes it with the usual rough shove she knows the ancient hinges need to move at all. There’s a soft grunt of pain and the sound of someone falling. Of course. 

Cursing under her breath, she quickly steps outside to find York sitting on the lawn just outside, one hand rubbing at his face. Kimball moves to his side, crouching beside him. “I’m so sorry, are you alright? I didn’t see you there.”

“Nothing bruised except my ego, and… maybe my face a little,” he says, pressing a hand to his forehead, but he still offers her a crooked smile, which has no right making her stomach flutter the way it does. Goddamn it. “Remind me to never pick a fight with you when you’ve got a door on you.”

He pauses, looking briefly confused with himself. “That sounded a lot better in my head.”

Kimball can’t stop herself from snorting. “I’ll bet.”

York grins wider. “I was torn between that and a line about ‘falling for you’. Probably should’ve gone with that one, huh?”

Her stomach really needs to stop doing that. Shaking her head, she straightens up and offers a hand to pull him to his feet. “I’m just going to assume that means you’re alright.”

He takes her hand and pulls himself up. “Oh yeah, I can take way harder hits than that, Delta doesn’t call me thick headed for nothing. So, where’s this lock that’s giving you trouble?”

Kimball sighs, her hand falling back to her side as she glances away from him. “About that. I need to apologize for you coming all the way out here. It seems the students intentionally locked the keys inside the locker room so they would have an excuse to get you out here. They also borrowed my phone.”

For some reason, York doesn’t look particularly surprised. If anything, it seems like he’s struggling not to laugh as he pulls out his phone and briefly scrolls through it. “You mean you’re not the one that wants to ‘stare deep into my eye and make small talk about whatever’?”

“What?” She must’ve missed that one. There’s a faint snickering from inside the gym and she’s making all of them run triple laps for that. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she grimaces. “No, that wasn’t me. I’m very, very sorry about this.”

“Don’t be. I figured out pretty quick it wasn’t you. But it’s kinda cute.”

She blinks at him, one eyebrow rising. “How exactly?”

York shrugs, still looking not at all bothered by this. “Them trying to set us up, it’s like something out of a movie… and definitely the kind of thing I would’ve tried to pull in high school. I think it’s sweet.”

Oh… well that’s sort of good. Kimball finds herself a little at a loss. She shifts on the spot, plucking at the ends of her sleeves. “They meant well, I can’t argue that. They still shouldn’t have done that, it was incredibly inappropriate.” 

“Well, maybe just a little,” he agrees, a slight laugh in his voice. York rocks back and forth on his feet. “But… if you’re not doing anything later, I was gonna get drinks with a couple friends…”

What? Kimball blinks at him, brows knitting together. “I… aren’t you seeing someone?”

York bobs his head in a gesture that’s not quite a nod. “I think so. It’s a little… tricky right now. But I don’t see why we couldn’t just grab drinks as friends, unless--”

“No, no!” Kimball almost winces at how quickly the words slip out. She clears her throat a little awkwardly and stands a bit straighter. Act like an adult, Vanessa, you can do this. “That would be nice. The kids are always saying I need to get out more.”

“Then great, friend drinks it is.” York’s smile it almost blinding, the corners of his eye crinkling. He has the kind of dimples that deserve a place on a magazine cover. And Kimball is beyond screwed. 

This is the last thing she needs, but she can’t say no. Doesn’t want to. It’s just as friends, right? There’s nothing wrong with that. And really, she could do with a few more friends. Maybe it’ll turn out alright.

Because she ever gets that lucky. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's really bad at sticking to an update schedule when she doesn't write stuff out ahead of time, this girl! Sorry for the delay on this. I'm going to try to make sure to get out at least a chapter a week, but it might not always be on the same day. I haven't written Kimball's pov before, so hopefully this is okay!


	3. York

"Are you certain that this is wise, York?”

The heavy sigh is automatic. At this point, York’s pretty sure Delta’s playback is skipping or something with how often he’s asked that question. “It’s not a date, Dee. You, Tex, and that Tucker guy are all going to be there too.”

“I am aware of that. But you did not answer my question.”

Okay, so Delta isn’t wrong about that. But York doesn’t usually answer his questions when he knows his roommate is right. And… okay, Dee’s usually right, or he at least has a point that York is doing his best to ignore. Which might be why a lot of their ‘disagreements’ as Dee likes to call them end with York changing the subject a few dozen times before making an excuse to leave the room.

However, since he’s about to spend the next several hours in a bar with Delta, he can’t really do that here. Not that Delta not being there would make the conversation over. They’ve been having this talk off and on for a few days now. Up until about five minutes ago, York had been pretty sure Dee was finally going to let it drop. So much for that. Really, it’s his fault for calling Delta in to ask what he thought of what he was wearing.

This is what he gets for never learning to dress himself properly.

“Yeah, well, Dee, I’m pretty sure you didn’t answer mine.” He turns from where he’s been inspecting himself in the mirror and spreads his arms wide. “So, what d’you think? I’m going for sort of a semi-casual frat boy, look.”

Delta’s perched on the edge of York’s bed, a little furrow between his brows as he tips his head to one side. “I am uncertain why you feel the need to wear socks with sandals. That seems to defeat the purpose of both articles of clothing.”

“Yeah, it’s ironic, that’s the point.”

“I don’t think you know what that word means.”

“Come on, Dee, cut me a little slack here. Not everyone likes to read the dictionary before bed like you.” York sinks onto the floor and tugs off the sandals, because okay, maybe Delta does have a point.

“York, I keep telling you, I have only done that once,” Delta insists, adjusting his glasses in that way he always does when he’s lying. York just shoots him a grin as he tosses the sandals back into his open closet.

Delta isn’t the easiest person to read, but York’s had plenty of time to figure him out. So he knows that when Delta sighs and checks his phone, it’s with the usual, fond kind of exasperation that’s reserved especially for him.

“Allison says that she will be arriving shortly to pick us up. And that if you aren’t ready when she arrives, she will leave without you and hit on your ‘not-girlfriend’ all night.” Delta pauses, tipping his head to one side. “There are also several accompanying emojis, which I believe are meant to suggest--”

“I think I get the idea.” York huffs as he stands and starts going through his closet again. God he needs to go shopping. He’s worn most of this stuff since high school. “You can call her Tex, y’know. Everyone else does.”

“She has never indicated that my doing so bothers her.” But York can see Delta frowning in the mirror. “Do you think she would prefer if I called her Tex?”

York shrugs as he sorts through his shirts. Why doesn’t he have anything that doesn’t have some kind of sports team logo on it? He doesn’t even like sports. This is what he gets for buying clothes based on what makes Wash roll his eyes the most. And for trying to piss North off by always showing up to any game he’s invited to wearing the shirt of the opposing team.

“If she hasn’t yelled at you for it, it’s probably fine, Dee. Tex doesn’t exactly keep quiet when she’s not happy about something.” Which is… kind of nice actually. And probably a big part of why they’re as close as they are. Tex doesn’t have to be tiptoed around, York’s pretty sure that just pisses her off more.

“What about this one?” York grabs a shirt (honestly at random) and holds it up to his chest.

Delta sighs like he’s three times his age. “York, I don’t believe that is appropriate.”

“Why not?” York finally takes a look at the faded shirt and immediately understands. “Guess Vanessa wouldn’t be impressed with the ‘federal boobie inspector’ thing, huh?”

“I doubt there are more than ten people on the planet that would be impressed by that.”

York cocks an eyebrow. “Really? You think there’s ten?”

“It seems probable. I have to account for the fact that there are some prepubescent boys who most likely share your sense of humor.”

Snorting, York hangs the shirt back up as he shakes his head. “Low blow, Dee.”

He should probably just get rid of that one. And… most of the others. It isn’t that he even really wants to keep all this old stuff. There’s not a whole lot of sentimental value in those old t-shirts--well, except for the ones Tex got him. Those have to stay. But most of them, he really means to throw away. He just doesn’t get around to it. If there’s ever a day when his brain isn’t going a dozen different directions at once, maybe he’ll remember.

Of course, then he’d also have to remember to go out and buy a bunch of shit to replace everything. Maybe he can just sneak it onto Delta’s to-do list later. He definitely wouldn’t end up with anymore stupid sports jerseys that way… probably just a lot of polo shirts, and no fucking thank you to that.

With a sigh, he wanders over to his bed and flops onto it face first, the ancient mattress creaking distastefully under him. York’s definitely put it through a lot over the years, gooood times. He turns to Delta with his best sad eyes. “Dee, can you just pick me something? You’re sort of good at this.”

“I will attempt to take that as a compliment.” But Delta takes pity on him and gets up to inspect the closet.

York rolls onto his back and drapes an arm over his eyes. The light in his room is stupidly bright. All the lights in their apartment are thanks to Dee’s weird super bulbs. Usually, he doesn’t mind (apart from that horrifying first day they’d replaced them all and realized just how much dust was covering everything and how stained the carpet was) but it’s not the easiest thing on his bad eye.

Delta had felt terrible about that when he’d finally put the pieces together and offered to change all the bulbs back, for once not thinking about things logically and considering how goddamn long that would take. And York definitely didn’t insist on keeping them because it’s kind of fun to watch Delta fuss at him.

So he likes seeing the guy prove he’s actually human now and then, sue him.

There’s a soft, flat hum, which York recognizes as Delta’s slightly disapproving one, as his roommate sorts through his closet. “You should really think about retiring some of these shirts, but there are some that are acceptable. Do you still have that sweater your aunt bought you? That was rather nice.”

“Probably,” York says, shrugging. “If it’s not there, it’s probably in the hamper.”

“And when was the last time you did laundry?”

“Definitely some time this year… I think.”

York tries not to laugh at Delta’s sigh. He’s pretty sure he’s done laundry this month, but it’s not like he keeps notes of that stuff on his calendar like some people do. That had definitely been something he had thought of as a ‘weird Delta thing’ until North, the traitor, had said he did the same thing.

Why are all his friends so weird?

There’s a familiar knock at the front door, mostly familiar because it’s loud enough to be heard through the whole apartment and sounds like the front door is about to become wood chips.

“I believe Allison is here,” Delta says, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice. York’s never quite understood why Delta likes Tex, but he’s sure as hell not complaining. “York, would you mind getting the door?”

“Sure. Door’s open!” he yells, loud enough for his voice to carry.

He doesn’t have to look up to know Delta’s probably got his judging face on. But there’s the faint sound of the front door opening, and the slightly louder sound of it slamming shut again. “You’re still not ready?”

York props himself up on his elbows and shoots Tex a grin. She’s leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over her chest. Her hair’s up and she’s got her usual bar hopping clothes on, along with a leather jacket he’s pretty sure she stole from South back in high school. He shrugs. “You know how long it takes for Delta to make himself pretty.”

“We are all well aware of the fact that I am not the problem here,” Delta says, not missing a beat. He greets Tex with a little nod. “I’m sorry we aren’t quite ready. Would you like to help me find something suitable for York to wear? He seems incapable of dressing himself today.”

Tex snorts, but she moves to inspect the closet as well. “And that’s different from any other day, how?”

“Hey, c’mon, I’m laying right here.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I said it.” Tex flashes him a distinctly sharklike grin before tossing a pair of jeans at his head. “Put those on.”

“Uh, can I get a little privacy?”

“Neither of us are gonna see anything we haven’t before,” Tex says, with a dismissive wave of her hand before going back to searching through his clothes. “What happened to that jacket North gave you?”

York shrugs as he gets out of bed to tug on the jeans. “I don’t know, I probably left it somewhere.”

He knows exactly where he left it, the same place he’s left most of his jackets the last several years. They always seem to be just a little big for him, but they fit Carolina like a glove, so he can’t bring himself to take them back at the end of the night. Can’t bring himself to take them when he sees them in her closet. Can’t bring himself to ask for them back.

Because if he starts collecting his shit, that means he doesn’t want her having the pieces of himself he’s given so easily. It’s stupid to worry about. Stupid to dwell on. Stupid to even let matter. But it does.

And he’s pretty sure Tex figures it out a second later where he left that jacket, because she doesn’t press the point. One of the upsides to having a friend who knows him better than literally anyone else. It’s like she can read his goddamn mind sometimes. Which is way less annoying than it should be.

She tosses a shirt and a jacket his way. “Alright, those are sort of acceptable. You seriously need to throw away some of this shit. I can’t believe you managed to get a date dressing in this crap.”

“It’s not a date!” His voice reaches almost Wash levels of screechiness, and he’s never living that down, judging by the smirk on Tex’s face and Delta’s raised eyebrow. Huffing, York turns away, pulling off his old, worn t-shirt, for the slightly nicer one Tex threw at him. “We’re just friends getting drinks. This is a ‘no-date night’. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

The tradition is kind of a stupid one, but ‘no-date night’ has been a thing since high school. Every few weeks, he and Tex go for a drink (or to cheat at skee-ball in high school… and now sometimes). They can invite whoever else, but no significant others.

It’s definitely the kind of thing two bitter teenagers would come up with, but it works for them. The night serves its purpose.

“Yeah, yeah.” He can hear Tex rolling her eyes. “Cause you’ve never brought a girlfriend to one of these.”

“I’m standing by that.” Because he’s never brought Carolina, although… that has almost nothing to do with the ‘no-date’ part of the night.

There have been girls who have been friends. And not girls, he’s open minded like that. Because, hey, York’s a friendly guy, people like him. And maybe he’s taken a few to ‘no date-night’ hoping to get to know them as a little more than just a friend.

But he’s only ever had one girlfriend.

“Vanessa’s cool, Tex, you’ll like her.”

“I bet I will.” That grin is a little more wolf-like this time.

“Hey, no flirting.” He levels a slightly judging finger at Tex as he grabs his wallet with his other hand. “I’ll take pictures.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please, Church doesn’t give a shit.”

“What about Wash?”

Tex glares and he just shoots her a grin in return. “Don’t you fucking think about it, asshole.”

“Hey, I’m insulted. You think I’d think before sending embarrassing pictures to Wash? It’s like you don’t know me at all,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically.

There’s another eye roll, this one’s a little more aggressive as she crosses the room to grab at him, yanking him toward the door. “I know you well enough to know that if I let you keep talking, we’re gonna be here all night.”

She… probably isn’t wrong about that. So York just grins and lets her pull him along.

* * *

Valhalla is a pretty good bar considering the shitty part of town it’s in. The outside has the usual neon sign and peeling paint like the rest of the street, but the inside is pristine. That’s the new owner’s doing. York remembers the place being a skeezy dive when he was young enough to need a fake ID, which the bartenders hadn’t even bothered looking at.

It’s nicer now, like someone took a feng shui hammer to the place. The lighting is soft, so everyone looks like they’re taking a glamor shot at all times, and the tables are a nice dark wood, carefully organized so no one crashes into anything unless they’ve had waaaay too many. There’s even a goddamn fountain in the back corner.

They’re running late, something York is very, very aware is his fault, although Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind in her responses to his quickly sent, typo riddled apology texts. As soon as the SUV pulls to a stop, York launches himself out of it and all but sprints to the door. He yanks it open and comes face to face with a giant.

The man is terrifyingly huge, a massive scar over the front of his neck and several more down his arms, all too visible thanks to the crisp white t-shirt he’s got on. Somewhere in between wondering whether the guy is gonna just fucking eat him or if the inevitable fate of being crushed under this guy’s giant fist is karma for something, he starts babbling. “Hey there, big guy. You new here? Love the t-shirt. Is that cotton? That’s a classic, can’t beat that. Pretty sure that’s what I’ve got too, funny having that in common, right? Well, I guess it’s not that funny, well not ‘ha ha’ funny. Anyway. Man, so this weather we’ve been having--”

Tex’s hand lands on his shoulder as she catches up with him. For some reason, she gives the giant a nod. “Hey Maine, you mind letting me and this idiot inside?”

Maine? For some reason that name’s very familiar. The man tips his head to one side, eyebrow rising as he signs something at Tex. She laughs. “He hasn’t had anything to drink yet, I swear. We’re stuck with him like this.”

Maine signs something else.

“Don’t worry, Delta’s our designated.” Tex jerks her thumb over her shoulder and York turns to find Dee standing just inches behind him.

More signing.

“I can assure you, I will not be drinking, and I will do my best to keep the two of them in check,” Delta says, firmly.

York looks between the pair of them as the giant finally steps out of the way. Linking her arm through his, Tex yanks him into the bar. “Okay, since when do you speak sign language? Or you, Dee? Did you two take a class together while I was out of town or something?”

“I learned sign language several years ago. I was the TA for the ASL professor in college, York, I’m sure you remember.” Delta sounds too nonchalant about it, the smug kind of nonchalant.

“Wash taught me,” Tex says, shrugging a little.

York just stares at her for a second. “Okay, and where the hell did Wash learn it?”

Tex jerks her thumb over her shoulder at the bouncer, who’s sitting on a stool just inside the door now. “The big guy taught him. They’re pretty close.”

“Wait, wait, wait--I knew I knew him from somewhere!” He looks back, nearly tripping over himself. In his defense, York’s only met Wash’s old cellmate once in passing when he had been dropping off Wash at the diner. The guy had mostly just seemed large and not particularly friendly, so… perfect bouncer material really.

He meets the man’s eyes and gets a glare and the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. Which means the guy almost definitely knows who he is based on stories from Wash. Great. “He seems nice.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid and he’ll leave you alone, probably.”

“Not making me feel better, strangely.”

“Oh stop worrying, you big baby. C’mon, I see your girlfriend over there,” Tex says, tugging him along.

York doesn’t bother with the denial as he turns to look where Tex is pointing. The bar isn’t too crowded, which is nice. It’s easy to see around people to the spot where Vanessa and Tucker are sitting at the bar, apparently hitting it off just fine. Huh… he doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Pulling free of Tex’s arm, he ducks around a few small clumps of people, coming up behind Tucker and clapping him on the shoulder with maybe a little more force than necessary. “Ooh, Tucker, picking up pretty girls at the bar, what would Wash say?”

Tucker, who’s just almost spilled his drink on himself, shoots a glare up at York, knocking his hand away. “Oh fuck off, dude. We were just waiting for the rest of you assholes to show up. Nessa and I are just talking boring business shit.”

“Business?” York cocks an eyebrow, glancing over at Vanessa. Why Tucker gets to call her ‘Nessa’ is something he’s just going to leave on the back burner.

“Sort of.” She shrugs a little, offering him a smile that makes his stomach flip. “We’ve got another fundraiser coming up next weekend and I was hoping Wash could help with catering.”

York casually leans on the bar between her and Tucker. “Fundraiser? What are you doing for this one?”

There’s a huff behind him from Tucker, but he ignores it. After spending more time with Wash’s boyfriend, he’s realized that they have far too much in common to ever really get along. Although it’s still so, so much fun to tease Wash about ending up with someone just like him.

“A silent auction,” she says, scrunching up her nose a little. “That was the board’s idea. After the pie eating fiasco, they want to try something a little classier, so they asked the art classes to make pieces to donate and every staff member has to find something to contribute as well.”

York frowns, one eyebrow rising. “Huh… doesn’t being silent take all the fun out of the auction part?”

“That’s what the kids have been saying. The board doesn’t think there’s any reason to have fun at a fundraiser.” She sighs and swirls her glass a little, drawing York’s eyes to the amber liquid there.

Before he can bust out one of his many lines about liking a woman with good taste in alcohol, there’s an arm around his shoulders, almost pulling him into a headlock. “York, introduce me to your friend.”

He doesn’t even need to look to know that Tex has her black widow smile on. It’s like the shark grin, but a little more sultry and twice as dangerous. The last time York saw it, he’s pretty sure Tex went home with Church, two married couples, and an extremely convincing William Shatner impersonator.

York squirms, but can’t quite get free, so he just huffs and looks back to Vanessa, who seems to be hiding a smile behind her glass instead of helping him. Traitor. Very, very cute traitor.

“Vanessa, this is Tex. Tex, this is Vanessa and keep your hands to yourself. She’s got a boyfriend, they’re pretty serious, I’m sure he’s gonna pop the question any day now,” he says to Vanessa, with a knowing nod.

That gets him a noogie he probably deserves. “Asshole.”

But at least Tex releases him to shake Vanessa’s hand, a funny look crossing her face for a moment before she smiles again, this one a little easier, more relaxed. “That’s some grip you’ve got there. Marines?”

“Ex-army,” Vanessa says, tucking a strand of hair behind her hair like a demure angel weight lifter.

Tex gives a nod of approval and jerks a thumb at her chest. “Special ops. I didn’t stick with it for too long. There were… creative differences.”

Vanessa snorts and nods, lifting her glass to that for some reason. Oh god, they’re girl bonding over army stuff. He needs to cut in now and not think about his weird talent for attracting women who would kill him with their pinky… or how attractive that particular quality is. Damn it brain, get it together.

He glances around and spots Delta, who’s making polite conversation with Tucker for some reason. Maybe Dee has a type too. Not important. Jerking around in his seat, York grabs at Delta’s arm, tugging him over to break up the conversation.

“Vanessa, you remember Delta, right?” He flashes her a wide grin ignoring the look from Tex that’s trying to stab into his head.

At least Vanessa doesn’t seem to mind. She offers Delta a friendly smile as she nods. “I do. How have you been?”

Leaving Delta to chat up Vanessa, York casually rises from his stool, tugging at Tex’s arm to pull her over toward Tucker. “You stay over here.”

She gives him a look and he knows this is a losing battle, but it’s one in continues to fight for the next few hours as he downs not nearly enough to explain himself and follows after Tex and Vanessa as they move over to the pool table. He keeps sneaking his way between them, Tex giving him the same look of irritation again and again until she asks if Vanessa and Delta can go grab them a few more drinks.

Tex rounds on him, eyes narrowing, hands on her hips and he’s so in trouble. “Okay, what exactly is your problem, York?”

And that… is a great question. Because he doesn’t know. And not in the usual way he does things without thinking sometimes. Those he can usually justify with ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ or ‘I thought it would make an awesome story if I didn’t die’.

But this? Yeah, he’s got nothing.

“You like her, right?” Tucker’s question is quiet, and it still floors him for a second. There’s a strange look on his face. “Like… really like her?”

York looks between him and Tex and shrugs a little helplessly. “I… I don’t know.”

“Did Carolina finally dump your sorry ass?” There's something really weird about how Tucker says it. His tone should be mocking, there should be an irritating snort that makes York want to tell Wash he's got the worst taste. But… somehow, he sounds actually curious.

“No, we’re… I think we’re trying to work shit out still.”

Tex frowns now, one eyebrow rising. “Do you still want that?”

York scoffs, or he tries to. It comes out sounding way too uncertain. “Of course I do.”

And he does. He really, really does. They're actually talking now, well texting, but still. And for once, Carolina’s the one that started it. That still sort of floors him a little. Carolina doesn't apologize.

Then again, he's usually the one that needs to do that part. He does a lot of dumb stuff.

It's awkward and he can tell that they're both spending at least twenty minutes on each text to make sure they get it right. Or in his case, to debate whether or not his dumb joke is worth it. And all of it just reminds him how much he misses her, how much he wants this to work…

But then there's Vanessa.

And okay, York has sort of been here before. On a break and finding someone who things are easy with, and there's chemistry, but it never lasts and soon enough he's missing Carolina or it's not as easy anymore or he just realizes that they don't fit like he thought.

This doesn't feel like that. When he looks across the bar and catches Vanessa’s eye as she looks back at them, there's this flutter in his stomach and he's sixteen and stumbling across a high school cafeteria all over again.

“York?”

He turns to Tex and Tucker, blinking himself out of the flashback. There's vague concern on Tex’s face, but Tucker… looks like he's thinking. “Have you been talking with Carolina lately?”

“Yeah, why?”

“She didn't mention like… seeing anyone else, did she?” Tucker’s trying to sound casual, but there's something off.

York frowns and looks to Tex, who's got a matching expression. “Nope, pretty sure she didn't mention that… why?”

And instantly, Tucker’s trying to look innocent. York might not know the guy that well, but they've got the same technique for the wide eyed ‘of course I didn't wreck your car, mom’ face. “Nah, just wondering.”

“Tucker…” There’s a warning of terrible things to come in Tex’s voice. Tucker shrinks in on himself.

Casually, York looks at his wrist like he's ever actually owned a watch. “Y’know, I think it's a great time for a smoke break, I'll be right back.”

And he's just going to leave Tucker to his fate. Tex probably won't mess him up too bad, she'd never hear the end of it from Wash. But York would get it twice as bad if he just stood there while it happened.

* * *

The night air is cool, or as cool as it ever gets in Blood Gulch. Most people break out their winter coats when it drops under eighty out, and the last time it actually snowed, he's pretty sure everyone lost their goddamn minds.

York doesn't want to be one of _those_ people, but he can't fight back a little shiver as a cool breeze ruffles his hair and messes up the perfect smoke ring he finally managed to blow.

“Got any of those to spare?” Vanessa’s voice makes him turn as she wanders out of the bar to lean against the wall next to him.

“Sure. But hey, you're a teacher, aren't you supposed to tell me these things will kill me?” But he fishes out another cigarette and hands it over.

Vanessa shrugs. “I'm a counselor, sort of, not a teacher. And somehow, I feel like you've made it through worse than a few cigarettes.”

He feels her gaze move to his eye for a moment and he nods a little, rubbing at the scars over his temple with one knuckle. “I guess that's fair. It looks pretty fucked up, right?”

York almost expects the usual awkward apology, the insistence that she didn't mean that. But it doesn't come. “I've seen worse. I actually sort of like the scars…”

There's a little hint of nerves to her smile, but it's easy enough to return as he nods a little, just about preening. Because he knows other people get weirded out by his face, but honestly? He’s sort of gotten attached to the old scars. They make him look dangerous and mysterious. Or that’s what he keeps telling Delta, who says they just make him look like an overgrown delinquent.

But then it occurs to him just where she would’ve seen worse and he winces. “Oh right, with the… the army stuff, right?”

She nods and leans to rub at her knee, holding the cigarette between her lips. “That, and the fact that the chemistry professor has never heard of protective gloves. You do _not_ want to know what some chemicals can do to skin.”

“Jesus.” York snorts a little and then pats at himself, finding his liter in his jacket pocket. “Need a lite?”

Nodding again, she just leans a little closer, letting him lite the cigarette for her. She takes a drag like an old pro and blows out a steady stream.

“You smoke?” He can't help asking. She doesn’t seem the type, all teacherly and put together. Then again the only professors York had ever liked at college were the ones that stopped by his usual alcove to ask for a lite.

There's a little wince as she leans back against the wall. “Technically, I quit two years ago.”

York cocks an eyebrow, trying not to grin. “And how's that working out for you?”

“Mostly fairly well. I can handle a few now and then without falling off the wagon again. The first few months were the hardest, I swear I chewed my weight in gum every week,” she says, shaking her head. “But I promised the kids I would quit.”

“So… I probably shouldn't tell, huh? I should warn you, I'm a known tattletale and a terrible liar.”

Vanessa laughs a little. “Well, I would certainly appreciate it if you didn't mention it. Smith would never let me hear the end of it. He already filled Bitters’ bag with pamphlets about the dangers of marijuana, and I wouldn’t put it past him to fill my office with those pictures of disgusting lungs.”

York mimes dragging a zipper across his lips and shoots her a wink. “I’ll try to keep quiet about it, but no promises.”

“I suppose that’s enough,” she says, with a slight nod. “So… do you have any idea what Tex and Tucker were talking about in there? It looked a little tense.”

He shrugs, maybe a touch too exaggeratedly. “No clue,” he half lies. “Probably about how her boyfriend never got over his weird crush on Tucker. It’s all very dramatic. If I had popcorn, I would’ve pulled up a front row seat, it’s like they’re living a soap opera.”

“Well that sounds… entertaining.” There’s a little smile playing around Vanessa’s lips. She has really nice lips and wow, okay serial killer sounding thought, that’s so not helpful. Get it together. “I think I’ve seen a little of that at the diner.”

“You mean the place where Wash works?”

“That’s the one,” she says nodding, smile in full force now and it’s like looking at a bright, twinkly star. “They certainly keep things… lively.”

York snorts. “That’s a word for it. Have you ever been to one of their poker nights?”

“A few times, actually. The last time I think we managed to play… three hands before Donut talked everyone into ‘truth or dare’ instead.”

“I can’t believe they lasted three hands.” He shakes his head and chuckles. York’s been to two poker nights himself, apparently on different occasions since he’s pretty sure he would remember seeing Vanessa there. “The last time I was there, Donut and Tucker talked everyone into strip poker before we were through with the first game.”

She laughs and it sounds the way a fountain flows, bubbling up from deep inside before spilling out. It makes the corners of her eyes crinkle as she shakes her head a little. “I’m almost sorry I missed that one.”

“Next time.” York’s halfway to coming up with a dumb joke when Vanessa’s phone buzzes at her hip.

She grabs it almost absently and then sighs when she looks at the screen. “Sorry, I have to take this,” she says, sounding earnest as she brings the phone to her ears and takes a few steps away.

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, well… actually he sort of does, but she’s over on his bad side, so it’s a little hard to make out anything except for the fact that she doesn’t sound very happy. The conversation isn’t a long one and Vanessa is pinching at the bridge of her nose when she hangs up and walks back over to him. She lets out a groan and presses her forehead to the wall of the bar.

“Bad news?” he asks, offering another cigarette, her last one’s just about burned down to nothing between her fingers.

It must be bad because she takes it without a second’s hesitation. “Not exactly. The kids are just panicking. They were planning to have a car wash earlier in the day before the silent auction, but the school won’t let them use the parking lot for it, so now they’re trying to think of a new idea. And it’s my fault, I was supposed to clear it quietly with the staff, but I didn’t get around to it before one of the kids let it slip.”

She takes the liter when it’s offered and takes a long drag. York gently squeezes her shoulder. “They’ll think of something else, they seem like smart kids. Hell, maybe they could have an auction of their own--but, y’know, the fun kind.”

An idea pops into his head and he’s immediately sure that it’s a terrible one, so he hesitates for a second, glancing at her. Her bright brown eyes look so tired. York hasn’t seen someone who looks like they need a break this bad since Carolina didn’t sleep for a week to cram for the SATs.

“What if you had one of those… bachelor auctions?”

She slowly looks over at him, one eyebrow rising. “A bachelor auction?” She repeats it and it doesn’t sound like she thinks he’s that crazy, so he keeps going.

“Yeah, I mean, it doesn’t have to be just guys, anyone could sign up who’s willing to go on a date with whoever bids on them. We did one back every year when I was in high school and it was always a big hit. Y’know, I bet we could even hold it here,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the bar because he doesn’t know when to stop.

Vanessa looks at the bar, her second eyebrow joining the first on the climb toward her hairline. “Here? Really?”

“Yeah, you saw in there, they’ve got that little stage in the back for karaoke, we could probably use that.”

“And they’re just… going to agree to that?” she asks, sounding politely skeptical.

“They will if I ask, I know the guy that owns the place.” Well, more like knows a guy that knows the guy… and knows another guy that knows the bouncer. Whatever. York is nothing if not friendly. He can make it happen, because he sees a faint spark of hope in Vanessa’s eyes and there’s no way he’s letting that go out.

“Well… as long as they make sure to card everyone at the door… maybe it could work,” she says slowly.

“Could? It’s definitely going to work. You know what, I’m so sure it’ll work, I’ll put myself in the auction.” Sometimes his mouth goes about five miles faster than his brain. But Vanessa is looking at him, eyes going wide, a hint of wonder on her face.

“You’d really do that?”

York waves a hand. “Sure I would. It’s for you and your kids, right? And it could be fun, I bet I could talk a couple of my buddies into it to.”

Wow, that’s so not a promise he should be making. Alright, maybe he can get North and Delta and maaaaybe Wash. But it’s out there and he’s got his big confident grin in place. And Vanessa is looking at him like he just showed up with a tow truck to rescue her on a creepy backwoods row at three in the morning.

His mental images always get so much more vivid when he’s been drinking, Jesus.

“That could work,” she says nodding, the stars back in her eyes as she pulls out her phone and starts typing. “I think the kids would love that, and if you could get it here… and if Wash can save the extra food left over from catering… this could be perfect!”

And then her hand is on his shoulder and she leans up, kissing his cheek and sending a wave of warmth rushing through every single nerve. “York, you’re amazing, this could be perfect--I need to go talk to Tucker…”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead, I’m just gonna finish another and I’ll be right in,” he says, pulling another cigarette from his pack. She nods and he can almost see the ideas running through her head as she makes her way back into the bar.

The warm cloud around him lingers for a few moments, his hand drifting up to the spot where he can still feel her lips on his cheek. Sighing, he leans back and rubs at his forehead his his knuckles. What the fuck has he gotten himself into here? There’s a little curl of guilt in his gut and he pulls out his phone.

_Hey. We should talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's terrible about update schedules, it's me! I'm so sorry for how long this took, this chapter just kept getting put on the back burner. I've got the next few outlined, so hopefully that should help things move a little faster in the future. As of now, this story should be 12 chapters, with a possible epilogue, but we'll see what happens! Anyway, thank you to anyone who's still interested in this story for being patient! I'll try to get the next one out in the next few weeks!


	4. Carolina

“This isn’t going to work.”

Carolina holds her breath and tries to lean out of the way of the cloud of smoke that seems to follow Sarge around wherever he goes, which gets a little too close for her liking as he leans over her shoulder to squint at the numbers in front of her. She’s been at it for days now and it feels like trudging up a hill through thick snow trying to balance the diner’s books. The only thing she knows is that it’s a literal miracle this place is still open. 

Somehow, this is so far from what she had pictured when Phyllis had sent over the details of the accounting job. When she had gotten out of the cab at the address and found the diner, it had taken so much self control not to get back in and tell the driver to just keep going and never look back. 

It’s not as though she doesn’t have savings. Because she does. She’s saved up enough that she could probably not get another job for a few years and still be alright. She had tried not working for a day and a half before giving in. 

Honestly, she had known she wouldn’t be able to stand all the nothing after the first few hours. Someone can only watch so much Food Network before it all starts to bleed together. The fact that her attempts to replicate some of the things she had seen on TV had set off the fire alarms and sent the whole building out into the hundred degree heat, was just the final straw. 

No one needs to know about that. No one. 

At least her new job comes with free food. Although, looking over their books, she has no idea how they can afford to make what they’re serving now. The place should’ve gone out of business months ago. Things have picked up… actually far more than Carolina would have thought possible looking over the old records. 

But there’s so many debts to repay, so much red to make up for. How in the hell did they even get by? It honestly doesn’t make sense. 

Sarge makes a thoughtful noise as he rubs at his chin. “Can’t seem to find the problem here. Looks alright to me. Might be dipping into the red a bit, but better red than blue!”

And then there’s that. Carolina just stares at him for a second. She’s coming up on her first week of being here and she still can’t get over the way Sarge well… does everything. He had lead her into a cluttered mess of an office in the back of the diner, right next to his own and just as big and let her have free run of the place, trusting her to sort everything out. 

Someone who he had met all of once, and he just… let her handle it. Honestly trusted her to sort it all out. 

“You come highly recommended, little lady, so I ain’t gonna get in your way,” he had said on his way out. But then he paused in the doorway. “I do have one question… you got a favorite color?”

The moment had been so surreal, that she had answered honestly before she could think better of it, telling him she didn’t really have a favorite, but she did always sort of like teal. For some reason he had huffed and shook his head, muttering under his breath about ‘another dirty blue’, whatever that meant. She had been far too baffled to be offended. 

And the next morning, when she had arrived, there was a large teal mug on her desk, a red bow tied around the handle. For a few minutes, she had just stared at it before Tucker had swung by, pot of coffee in hand. “You take it black, right?”

“I… yes? What is this?” she asked, having finally managed to find her voice as he filled up the mug. 

Tucker had just shot her a grin before heading out. “Coffee, duh. Welcome to the team, Carolina. If you want more, come ask me. Don’t just go for the pot. We keep the good shit in the kitchen.”

And then he had left her to get to work. 

Every morning since then, he’s come in with coffee, and sometimes some kind of pastry, making a little small talk before getting back to work. At first, she had sort of just passed it off as them being… sort of friends. Tucker’s been in her life for too long for them to not be at least somewhat close. 

But it’s not just him. On Tucker’s day off, Donut comes in with coffee and spends twenty minutes asking about her hobbies and how she likes it there before catching her up on the latest diner gossip that she doesn’t particularly care about, but it’s strangely riveting the way he talks about it. And it’s also a decent way to learn about her… for lack of a better word, coworkers. 

It’s odd thinking of them that way. She’s not working out in the diner like them. If she were to shut her door, she’d probably never see anyone but Sarge and Tucker. Really, she would probably get a lot more work done if she closed the door, but… too much of the last several years have been closed doors, nervous knocking and a voice she can still hear in the back of her head asking if she has those reports finished yet, wondering aloud if she really needs to eat those fries or that second piece of cake.

At least the voice has been getting quieter. 

But it’s still there as she watches Sarge go over her work, a little furrow in his brow. Carolina sips at her coffee and resists the urge to reach for the plate of scones next to the computer on her desk. Tension creeps into her shoulders and she can’t stop glancing at him every few seconds. “You need to start a better payment plan to deal with these debts, sir.”

Sarge nods, free hand rubbing at his jaw. “Suppose so. Don’t think they’d just take a couple’a boxes of cakes, do you?”

She snorts before she can stop herself and is halfway to apologizing, pressing a hand to her mouth as she looks over at Sarge. But there’s a little crinkle to the corner of his eye. Oh… that was a joke. He’s making jokes with her. 

That’s… strange. 

Carolina leans back in her seat and tries not to look stiff as she shakes her head. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Damn. Well, how ‘bout you start working out a plan and we’ll hash it out later this week?”

“I… alright.” Later this week? When does that mean? No ‘on my desk by eight sharp on Monday’? But Carolina just nods. 

It’s not like she doesn’t have plenty of time. She could probably work something out by the end of the day. But she doesn’t have to. She can work at her own pace. 

“Good. I’ll let you get back to it then. You know what you want for lunch yet?” Sarge asks as he heads for the door. “I’ll have Wash whip you up something.”

And there’s a half formed protest on her tongue. Because she did bring a lunch, a sad, wilting salad tucked into the fridge under her desk. The same brand that she’s been buying for five years, seven a week. 

But she doesn’t need that anymore. Her lips turn up at the corners and she shrugs. “Tell him to surprise me.”

Sarge grins and nods. “Can do.”

And he’s gone, leaving her be. No hovering secretaries, no messages sent every few minutes to monitor her progress. It makes something shift in her chest, something old and rusted that’s figuring out how to turn again. 

Because she’s pretty sure this is what trust feels like. 

* * *

It’s not all smooth sailing. Still not nearly as bad as she had expected, but the bumps in the road are definitely there. 

Sarge had agreed to her idea of weekly meetings to discuss how to keep things running smoothly. It’s a basic step forward to get things back onto… something remotely close to resembling tracks. There’s not really a manager exactly, Sarge letting the staff more or less organize things themselves. Which just makes it that much more amazing that the place hasn’t burned to the ground yet. 

However, he hadn’t warned her that that he had announced the meeting would be mandatory and insisted that everyone on staff show up. Admittedly, that’s not a whole lot of people, but Carolina’s holding onto the tiny shred of happiness at the fact that they didn’t all try to squeeze into her office. She’s sure about half of them would refuse to ever leave. They all like to spill into places they don’t belong and carve out a little place for themselves there. 

It’s strange, alien almost. But she can wonder about her coworkers habits once she makes sure they’ll all still have jobs next month. 

“Alright,” she says, looking dubiously around the table. It had taken a good twenty minutes to get everyone there and relatively quiet and attentive, which… was probably about the best she could hope for with them. “Let’s get this started.”

Carolina’s very proud of herself for saying ‘started’ instead of ‘over with’.

They can’t fit everyone into Sarge’s office either, so they’ve pushed a few tables together in the dining room. It had taken a good ten minutes just for everyone to find a seating arrangement they liked, during which Carolina had practiced her deep breathing exercises and seriously debated the merits of trying to brain herself with a salad fork. 

Her notes sit in a carefully organized pile in front of her, but they’re not getting through half of them before they have to open for lunch. Take a breath, just get to the important parts. Really, the fine details probably don’t matter. Those are there to be thorough. Because she has to look at every angle under a microscope or it won’t be good enough. 

It probably still isn’t. 

“So what’s the deal, lady?” Grif’s sprawled half on his seat, half on Simmons’, who’s really thin enough to take up less than half a chair himself. “Are we all fired or what?”

Caboose inhales sharply and grabs at Tucker’s arm. “I do not want to be set on fire.”

“None of you are fired for now.” Carolina forces down the voice in her head that wishes she had paused dramatically there. This isn’t about putting on a show, just get to the point. “However, the restaurant is deeply in debt and if you want to keep it open, you’re going to have to make some changes.”

“Like… decorating changes?” Donut asks, voice full of hope, eyes bright with ideas. “Because I’ve been saying forever that we should fix the place up, get a new coat of paint, maybe some new curtains--”

“What’s wrong with my curtains?” Sarge sounds strangely offended. 

They’re not what she’s talking about, not even remotely, but… Carolina sees what Donut means. The curtains are terrible. At some point, they were probably a nice, vibrant red, but they’ve faded, grown dark and stained to the color of drying blood. Not really the sort of thing anyone wants to see when they’re eating. They also kind of smell like fryer grease and gym socks. 

“Nothing, Sarge! But I was just thinking we could brighten the place up a little with something a bit lighter. I’m thinking lace--”

“Not that kind of change,” she says quickly, before Donut can start extolling the virtues of Chantilly lace and feng shui. “I mean changes in expenses and money management. Organizational changes, that sort of thing.”

She does her best to explain as simply as possible, but she can see eyes starting to glaze over. Damn it. This isn’t like a board meeting with her father sitting at her shoulder, listening to every word so he can better prepare his thinly veiled criticisms of every other syllable. These people don’t care about the numbers. 

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She’s here to do a job and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t do it. So she marches on, going through her points and plans, finishing with her shoulders squared for rebuttals and counterarguments. 

That’s not what she gets.

They’re all still staring, although judging by the looks on most faces, and the way Caboose is still nodding like he’s listening, tells her enough. The only eyes that look bright and engaged are Wash’s, which is less than surprising. He gives her a wry look and Carolina feels a hint of her temper rising up. 

Is he mocking her? God she probably just made an idiot of herself in front of all of them. They don’t care. They just want her there to fix the problem and move on. 

Grif seems to notice that she’s stopped talking. “So, is that it?”

Carolina tries not to deflate too much. “Yeah… that’s it.”

Caboose claps. “That was a very nice presentation miss Church’s sister. I give you an A plus.”

“Does that come with a gold star?” She can’t keep all of the bite out of her voice. But Caboose doesn’t seem to notice, or he’s better at mocking people than Church ever let on.

He gasps, eyes lighting up. “I love gold stars. I have stickers in my bag if you want one.”

That sound so earnest, but it can’t be. Before she can think of an appropriately scathing response, Simmons raises his hand like an eager student. Carolina notices then that he has a notepad out in front of him, a pencil in hand still frantically scribbling. 

“Could you repeat that last part about timesheets?”

“Uh…” She’s too baffled to do anything else, so she does and Simmons jots something down. It looks like shorthand. “Are you… transcribing this meeting?”

“Oh um, yes?” Simmons says uncertainly. His voice cracks as he looks up at her. “I mean, I just thought someone should. Meetings are very important for a future assistant manager, I just want to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

Grif snorts, eyebrows rising. “Future assistant manager of what? We don’t even have a manager, dumbass.”

“But we could, and I think you should be the management you want to see in the world.”

“God, you are the biggest nerd.”

“You’re just jealous because I have management potential,” Simmons insists, puffing out his reedy chest. 

There’s no point in trying to regain order now. Grif and Simmons aren’t about to stop and Donut and Sarge have wound their way back to the curtains. 

“I’m just saying, Sarge, it wouldn’t kill you to let a little more natural light in here.”

“And I’m saying these curtains are stolen antiques and getting rid of them is mutiny! Do I have a mutiny on my hands, soldier?”

“Dude, were you ever even in the army?” Tucker asks, leaning halfway across the table to chime in, apparently done dealing with Caboose, who had found some of those gold star stickers in his pocket and covered himself and then Tucker in them. 

Carolina’s eyebrow starts twitching and she sucks in a breath through her nose, ready to exhale fire when a gentle hand lands on her shoulder. She turns and finds Wash there. He’s not quite smiling, but there’s a hint of one in his eyes. “How do you like your coffee?”

* * *

 

She’s not entirely sure how Wash uses that question to get her into the kitchen and seated next to the stove, massive mug of coffee in hand as he starts prepping for lunch. Most of the others are still out at their meeting table, the faint sounds of bickering drifting in through the boxy window behind the counter. 

“It’s best to just leave them to it,” Wash says, with the air of someone who’s full entrenched in all this nonsense. 

“That was such a waste of time.” Her tone is twice as bitter as the coffee. It’s black because it feels like it should bite right now. She should’ve asked for cream. 

“How do you figure that?” Wash isn’t looking at her, eyes on the vegetables he’s cutting into neat, uniform pieces, but she can still feel his attention. He’s always been good at that, making people feel listened to. For some reason it makes her fingers itch. 

The calm, understanding kind of listening is foreign and she can’t let herself like it. 

“You saw them out there. They weren’t paying attention, they just wanted me to make a fool of myself. It’s not like any of them care.” 

“Carolina.” There’s something sad in Wash’s eyes when he turns to look at her and Carolina has to will herself not to hate it. “They care, believe me, there’s not a lot I’m sure about when it comes to them, but I know they care.”

“They sure as hell don’t act like it. I’m pretty sure Grif was trying to take a nap and Tucker was texting under the table the whole time.” She can’t look at him. It feels like she’s complaining too much, a petulant child who didn’t get her way. 

“Oh, they definitely were. But that’s not because they don’t care.” Wash sets his knife down and starts sorting the vegetables into little bowls. “I know you meant well, but I think some of that stuff went a little over their heads. Think about it, if they really didn’t care, do you think they would’ve showed up?”

Carolina blinks at him and then lets her eyes flick to the window. They hadn’t been disruptive, not really. All eyes had been on her for the most part. They had been trying. 

It’s not that they didn’t care, they just didn’t understand. 

She winces as it hits her upside the head again, this isn’t one of her father’s meetings. This isn’t a group of suits fretting over the bottom line. She’s not in that world anymore. And there’s a strange pang in her chest and she hates that she can’t lie to herself enough to say she doesn’t miss it. 

But that’s not her life anymore, and she’s not going to find a new one anywhere else if she doesn’t try. Everyone at the diner has carved out a place for themselves to, maybe… maybe she can too. 

“I guess I could’ve made it a little easier to follow.” She shifts on the spot, keenly aware of Wash’s eyes on her. “This isn’t the team I’m used to working with. I’ll do better next time--”

“You’ve been doing fine. Carolina, you’ve done more to keep this place running in a week than any of the other accountants Sarge has had come in for months.”

His tone is too earnest and Carolina’s face feels hot. It’s not that she’s unused to praise, but it never comes after a failure like that meeting. She didn’t earn it. Her hands curl tight around her mug and there’s a fraction of an impulse to smash it against the wall. 

A waste of perfectly good coffee, her father would say. So she doesn’t. She brings the cup to her lips and takes a long drink so she doesn’t have to respond right away. Maybe if she just keeps going, she’ll swallow the entire mug and Wash won’t have anything else to say about it. 

The door to the kitchen swings open before Carolina gets to figure out how to chew a ceramic mug and Tucker wanders in. He hops up onto the prep table and ignores Wash’s look that suggests very clearly that he’d prefer him to be anywhere else in the kitchen right now. Tucker just grins at him and snags a carrot from the cutting board. 

“So y’all having fun in here?” Tucker has four gold star stickers still stuck to his face. 

“So much fun, get off my table,” Wash says, giving him a little nudge. Tucker hops off with a huff and just leans against the table instead. 

He looks to Carolina and it’s only because he spent half his time in high school camped out in Leo’s room that she knows it’s not a challenge. It’s more curious than anything else. Appraising is what she would’ve called it if he was in a suit. 

“You good?”

The fact that he’s asking means he can tell she’s not and Carolina sucks in a breath through her nose and forces herself not to grit her teeth or clench her jaw. She already grinds her teeth at night, her dentist will kill her if she goes back to doing it during the day too. 

“Good enough,” she says, trying to get the stiffness out of her voice. It’s easier than she expects. Tucker isn’t just a strange coworker, that helps. But it’s striking seeing him here, with the rest of them, though that’s not half as strange as seeing Wash at home this rundown kitchen. 

He makes himself busy, heading into the freezer for something, leaving Carolina alone with Tucker and the canyon spreading between them. She used to know how to get over it. Just take a running leap. 

“Must’ve been someone important you were texting.” It doesn’t come out with any bite, but a there’s an awkwardness that clings. Tucker doesn’t seem to mind, grinning wide as he pulls out his phone. 

“Nah, I was just sexting Wash. Pretty sure his phone’s off though. He’ll get to that later.” Tucker’s grin only grows wider when there’s a vaguely annoyed sound from the freezer, signalling that Wash definitely heard that. 

Carolina arches an eyebrow. “And when did that happen?”

Tucker blinks at her. “What? Me and Wash? Shit, I thought I told you…”

“You did not.” She would’ve remembered. 

But then again, she hadn’t talked to Tucker much before she started working there, not for months. There had been texts now and then, mostly about something obnoxious Leo had done. It’s always been nice being able to commiserate with her brother’s best friend about just how much of a pain he can be when he wants to. 

Now though… it’s been ages since they spent time together. She had just been so busy. It wasn’t as though she meant to drop Tucker. She hadn’t meant to ignore his texts, or Leo’s, or York’s. There was always a plan to return them when she got the time. 

But she never did. 

Tucker’s frowning, looking guilty as he fusses with his hair. It’s gotten longer since she last saw it, braids hanging down his back. “Fuck. Well, I was definitely gonna. I mean, it did sorta take me and Wash a while to get shit figured out. I guess by the time we did… I kinda figured everyone already knew.”

And there’s a sinking feeling there. Somewhere along the line, she had stopped fitting into Tucker’s ‘everyone’. Her own bubble had dwindled down as well. It’s to be expected. But that doesn’t make the unpleasant feeling any better. 

“But it’s not like you told me about you and Vanessa,” Tucker counters and Carolina chokes on her next sip of coffee. 

She manages to finish spluttering and stares at him. “What?” 

Tucker cocks an eyebrow. “C’mon, I know a date when I see one, Carolina. Look who you’re talking to. So how long’s that been going?”

“It hasn’t--It’s not. Going.” Very eloquent, Carolina. She huffs, squaring her shoulders, ready for the interrogation. “I’m not dating Kimball--Vanessa. We’re just friends. That was just… a friendly dinner.”

“Just a couple gals being pals?” Tucker’s eyebrow is going ever higher and his lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh at her. 

She lightly punches his shoulder and he stops holding it back. “Shut up. I’m still with York.”

“Uh huh.” He couldn’t sound less convinced, laughter still written all over his face. “Not gonna tell you who to date or anything, but I’m just saying I’d pick Nessa over the frat guy any day. Just saying.”

Carolina rolls her eyes, but she can’t wipe the smile off her face. She pushes herself up out of her seat and moves to lean against the table next to him. Tucker gives her a little nudge and she returns it and suddenly it’s high school again and they’re teasing each other in front of their lockers. Like nothing’s changed. 

“So… you really wanna make it work with that York guy?” Yeah, it’s definitely just like high school again. 

Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, Carolina thinks about it. With anyone else, it’s easy to insist that of course she and York will work things out, they always do. Laugh and say she’s just waiting for him to call her. But Tucker’s different. He knows her. He’s been around from the first break up, saw the first time she cried in years when stress clawed its way into her head and wouldn’t let go, was there holding her shoulders and bouncing up and down when she got college acceptance letters. 

She could lie to him. She’s good at it. But it never feels right. 

Carolina lets out a breath and leans into him a little. Tucker doesn’t comment, just idly drapes an arm over her shoulders. He’s always been touchy, it took a few months for her to learn to let herself like it. 

“I do,” she says, meaning it. “It’s just… complicated now.”

“Because of Vanessa?”

She makes a face and doesn’t want to answer. But saying nothing implies a lot more than actually responding. “Among other things, yes. I think… I could like Vanessa. If I let myself.”

“But you don’t want to cause of York, right?”

“Basically.” She groans and presses her face into his shoulder. “This is so stupid.”

“Is it?” He sounds bemused and she knows his face enough to picture the sassy eyebrow he’s giving her as he pets her hair. For a second, Carolina misses the long hair she’d had a few months before. Sinking deeper and deeper into work had left her with little time to think about things like managing her hair. It had become such a hassle that chopping it off had been easiest. She likes it better this way. But there’s less of it for Tucker to mess with now, not enough room for the braids he’d given her in high school.

“Maybe. It makes me feel stupid.” That’s half the problem right there. The more she thinks about it, the more irritated she gets with herself. It should be easy to decide what she wants and make it happen like she always has before. 

But it’s not. 

“Why? They’re both super hot and really into you.” There’s a slight pause. “Don’t tell York I think he’s hot, he already gives me enough shit.”

“I make no promises.” A smile slides onto Carolina’s face despite herself as she lifts her head up again. The storm clouds in her head relent a little, parting to let just a hint of light in. “I bet if I dared him to, he’d make out with you.”

Tucker scrunches up his face and gives her shoulder a little shove. “Gross. I can’t believe you’re trying to get me to mack on your boyfriend when Wash is right there.”

Carolina glances over toward the freezer. The door is propped open and Wash can definitely hear them. “Hey Wash, can my boyfriend make out with your boyfriend?”

Wash doesn’t even poke his head out when he responds: “Only if I don’t have to watch.”

She laughs as Tucker shoves her again and shoots the freezer a look of betrayal. “Dude, if I can make out with other guys, I want that shit in writing.”

“Sorry, can’t hear you, I’m in the freezer,” Wash calls back and Carolina almost doubles over laughing at the indignant face Tucker makes. 

God she’s missed this. Missed them. It’s a little weird seeing the two of them together, seeing Wash around any of them really. He’s changed so much. She sees it in how he carries himself when he walks back out of the freezer, stack of burgers in hand. There’s not nearly as much tension in his shoulders, and the circles under his eyes aren’t gone, but they’re smaller. Everything about him is softer even when he frowns at Tucker. 

“I thought I told you not to freeze these?”

Tucker presses and offended hand to his chest. “Dude, don’t look at me. Grif and Simmons are the kitchen monkeys. I just drop the boxes of shit off in here on the table.”

Wash sighs and shakes his head, but he never stops moving. There’s an ease to him here that he never had working in the office with her father. He grabs things from shelves without looking, has Tucker pass him things he can’t reach, no insistence that he doesn’t need help. 

“Wait, Wash, got something else for you,” Tucker says after handing him the spatula he asked for. Wash pauses momentarily, letting Tucker lean in and kiss his cheek. He scrunches up his nose, but doesn’t tell Tucker not to, that this is work, Tucker, that’s not appropriate. Instead, he lightly flicks Tucker’s braids and presses a quick kiss back to the corner of his mouth, natural and easy. Like they do this every day. 

Carolina’s suddenly an intruder and she stares into her mostly empty coffee mug. Has she ever had that with York? That natural ease. They must have at one point, she’s almost sure, but… she can’t remember what that feels like. 

“So what d’you want for lunch?” Tucker’s against her side again, arm lightly bumping up against hers. 

Looking up, she finds Wash watching her expectantly. There’s an impulse to lie, to say she’s not hungry, that she brought something from home, when all she’s got in her office is a salad that’s probably a few days past date and an apple that definitely is. Everyone else eats here for lunch, why can’t she? “Surprise me.”

Wash blinks at her, eyebrows rising, but then a little smile slides onto his face as he nods. “I think I can do that.”

* * *

She eats the piping hot pasta Wash whips up in her office with Tucker and Grif, who apparently isn’t allowed in the kitchen when Wash is making everyone’s lunch, but follows the smell of food that’s definitely too much for one person instinctively. At least, that’s the reason she’s going with for why he wandered into her office, wheeling in a chair behind him. 

“Sup,” is all he says in greeting before he steals some of Tucker’s fries and plops down in the chair, making himself comfortable. 

Tucker nods and snags a sip from Grif’s cup before he makes a face. “Dude, the fuck is that?”

“Red Bull and corn syrup.” Grif takes a long drink and Carolina finds herself both appalled and amazed. 

“Isn’t that awful?” she asks, honestly curious.

“It’s not so bad once you get used to it. Plus we’ve got all this extra corn syrup in the back and Wash says he doesn’t need it all and Simmons doesn’t wanna throw it away and be ‘wasteful’,” Grif says, one hand rising for the appropriate air quotes. “So I figured I might as well do something with it. Goes better in Mountain Dew.”

“How are you not dead yet?” Tucker looks strangely impressed as he shakes his head at him. 

Grif shrugs. “Look, dude, I’m not turning down free sugar. Plus, Simmons raided my snack cake stash, so I gotta get it somewhere.”

His feet go up on the corner of Tucker’s chair and he glances around the office. “So, I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Carolina cocks an eyebrow at him. That has to be a joke. The office walls are bare, covered only in ancient, peeling wallpaper. It had taken her a day and a half to get the place cleaned up, which she probably would’ve voiced her opinion about if it hadn’t been so damn nice just having something to do. She’s never been big on cleaning, but it’s better than sitting around her apartment moping. 

Honestly, this office is tidy because her last office was tidy, and so was the one before that. It’s a habit. Keep your workspace clean and organized and your mind will follow suit. It’s why her father had always inspected her room to make sure everything was right where it should be. 

But… the more she looks around the office, the more boring it seems. Maybe that’s what Grif means. Glancing at him, she shrugs a little. “I was thinking of getting a plant.”

That makes both of them perk up a little for some reason. Tucker snorts, eyebrows rising. “Seriously? You’d better get a plastic one.”

Carolina shoots him a slight glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you not remember the cactus garden you killed?” he asks, cocking his head to one side. 

How dare he remember that. Carolina feels the heat rise to her face as Grif laughs. “Wait, what? How the fuck do you kill a cactus?”

“The label said they didn’t need much water!” She bites back laughter, doing her best to sound indignant. 

“Yeah, not much isn’t the same as none.” Tucker points an accusing french fry her way. “I dunno why the fuck you thought it was a good idea to get a ton of them at once, especially not with all that SAT study crap you were doing.”

Carolina shrugs, twirling pasta around her fork. “I read that gardening was supposed to be relaxing. I thought it might help.”

“I still think we should’ve had a funeral for them,” Tucker says, shaking his head. “You named them, named things get funerals.”

Grif’s got his head tipped to one side as he sips at his drink, brow furrowed in thought. “Who the fuck thinks gardening is relaxing? Simmons loses his shit every spring when he tries to start that shit up again. He can never decide what to plant or or how much or in what part of our stupid tiny ass yard and he always comes crying to me about it. ‘Grif, why aren’t my tomatoes growing’ or ‘but I made sure they had natural sunlight’ or ‘no, Grif, I’m not planting candy corn again’.”

Carolina can’t help snickering at his Simmons impression seems fairly accurate honestly. But that raises a question. She doesn’t know much about well… any of them. Maybe Grif inviting himself into her office and stealing bits of pasta off her plate means she can start asking. “So you and Simmons live together?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Grif shrugs.

“You guess?” She cocks an eyebrow, trying to figure out what that means. 

“He started crashing on Simmons’ couch like ten years ago and Simmons never got up the nerve to kick him out and now they’re married,” Tucker says, grinning when Grif shoves at his shoulder. “Hey, tell me I’m wrong dude?”

“We only got married cause of stupid tax shit,” Grif mutters, crossing his arms over his chest, looking irritated by the whole conversation. 

“So you’re not really together?” Carolina’s brow furrows a little. She vaguely remembers stories from Leo and Tucker over the years about two of their friends, who were so obviously in love, but too chicken shit (Leo’s words) to do anything about it.

Grif just looks more irritated. “I didn’t say that.”

Carolina glances at Tucker, who’s mirroring her curious expression. God, she shouldn’t care about this. Getting involved with personal drama is stupid and pointless. 

And yet… 

“Dude, you can’t just leave us hanging like that.” Tucker gives Grif a nudge and Carolina leans forward, elbows on her desk. 

Grif rolls his eyes and steals more of Tucker’s fries. “It’s not like it was a big deal. We just kinda figured… y’know, we’re married, we’ve been hanging around each other for ages. Might as well just… fucking do it, I guess.”

“You guess?” Carolina blinks at him, eyes widening. “Really? That’s it?”

“What d’you want from me? Not like it was all fucking dramatic like Tucker and Wash’s shit with the tragic past or Church and Tex’s bullshit. We just… I dunno, figured it was about damn time.”

Tucker scoffs. “You say that like you haven’t been in love with him since middle school, dude.”

“Fuck off, Tucker.” Grif shovels fries into his mouth as if the conversation will stop because he can’t talk. 

Carolina’s just… not going to think about the Church and Tex bit. She knows about that. Too much. More than she ever wanted. But Leo can make his own choices and she’s not going to spend any more time worrying about them. She’s already spent too many years doing that. Just move past that part. 

Instead, she turns her attention toward Tucker. “So was it dramatic… with you and Wash? You never actually told me how that happened.”

And there’s an unpleasant nagging feeling at that. She’s missed too much. But maybe it’s not too late to catch up. 

Tucker shrugs. “Nah, not really. I mean, I guess he was kinda homeless for a while after he got out of prison and I let him move in with me and then we just kinda… started dating and shit. I think we actually kinda skipped the dramatic parts.”

“Homeless?” Oh god. She has to go talk to Wash. Why didn’t he ever mention that? Why didn’t she know? How long was he homeless? How could she let that happen--

Because Wash wasn’t her friend then. Not really. 

She hadn’t gone to his hearings, hadn’t seen him off when he’d said his goodbyes before getting driven off, hadn’t visited him once while he was on the inside. It had seemed easier that way, to distance herself from all of it. That way she could talk herself into believing that what her father said about it was true. 

They’ve talked a bit since she started here, but not about that. Not yet. They need to, she knows that. But it’s better to figure out how to be friends again first. Maybe that’ll help her figure out how to apologize for it, how to feel about any of it. 

Carolina forces it down and looks to Tucker as he shrugs again. “I mean, technically he was, but he was never like out in the cold or anything. He had a couple people to crash with. The plan was sorta for him to just stay with me for a bit, but he’s super hot and he cooks everything, so there’s no fucking way Junior and I were just gonna let him leave.”

She chuckles a little. “Fair enough.”

“I’ll tell you the whole story later, I skipped all the hot parts.” Tucker grins as he checks the time on his phone. Handing his plate to Grif, he gets up and heads for the door. “I gotta get to it, should be opening up again in a bit.” 

He leaves, and then immediately comes back, leaning in the doorway. “Oh, by the way, Cee, Sarge said he wanted to talk to you later. Something about management potential or whatever. I only sort of listened, all I know is that you shouldn’t tell Simmons or he’ll probably cry. See ya.”

And then Tucker’s gone and Carolina’s staring after him. 

“Congrats,” Grif says, through a mouthful of fries. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. 

“What?” She’s still very lost, looking between Grif and the doorway. What is happening? Is that… a job offer? She isn’t qualified to be a manager. Well, alright, she’s probably over qualified technically, but she’s never managed people before, not people like the ones here. 

Grif shrugs unhelpfully. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”

Carolina cocks an eyebrow at him. “Do you ever worry about anything?”

“Nah, not really. Too much effort,” he says, shrugging again. “It’s easier just not giving a shit, y’know?”

“I wouldn’t know actually. It sounds nice.”

“You should try it sometime.” He leans back, propping his feet up on her desk. “Makes things waaaay better.”

“Right.” She looks over him, assessing as she crosses her arms over her chair. “And have you ever tried… not taking it easy?”

He blinks at her. His eyes don’t match, which is… odd. One’s hazel, the other’s a lighter green. It makes him seem alien, or maybe she just wants him to be. Just wants there to be some world of difference between the two of them. 

But then he nods and doesn’t quite stifle a yawn. “Yeah, way back. It fucking sucked. Worrying about shit all the time, popping anxiety meds like goddamn tic tacs. You ever had a panic attack on a roller coaster, cause lemme tell you, that shit fucking sucks.”

“You’ve had panic attacks?” She can’t keep the surprise out of her voice as her eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah, not like all the time, but… I dunno. It used to be bad. Started talking to this shrink a couple years back, got my meds figured out right so I could leave the house without checking the stove twenty times and stop washing my hands for an hour every time I cooked something.”

He says it a little too carelessly, not quite looking at her as he does, his chair rocking on two legs, slightly off balance. And there’s a strange pit in Carolina’s stomach. “I… I didn’t know.”

“It’s cool,” Grif says dismissively, waving a hand before he sets his chair back down and leans in to steal a fork full of pasta. She doesn’t stop him. “Not like you’ve been here that long. I think we only met like… once at that party Tucker had for Junior, right?”

Carolina nods, vague memories coming back. She hadn’t been at the party long, just enough to give Junior a hug and drop off a present, but Tucker had shoved a cupcake at her and convinced her to stay for another ten minutes. “I think so… were you the one that they had to call the ambulance for because you ate the plastic decorations off the cake?”

“Those things looked fucking real! And who the hell puts that shit on a kid’s cake?” Grif slumps down in his chair, looking more than a little put out. He perks up when Carolina pushes the last of her lunch toward him. 

Grif looks between her and the plate for a second, as if expecting a trap, and then he digs in. There’s not a whole lot left, but it seems right to share. It certainly looks like he appreciates it. 

She drums her fingers on her desk, eyes flicking over the computer, the stacks of papers neatly organized beside it. This should be easy, Tucker’s offhand comment shouldn’t be weighing on her, but she can’t get it out of her head. Management potential. What the hell does that mean? Is she not doing enough? Maybe she’s done too much, given Sarge an idea that she wants to do more here than she actually does. 

What would being a manager even mean? She should ask about that. Or maybe she can google it. Google, what does a manager do? God, she can’t have that in her search history. What is wrong with her? Maybe she can just climb out the window and never look back. No, the window’s too small. Damn it. 

“Uh hey,” Grif says, pulling her out of her spiral. “You good?”

Carolina blinks at him for a second and nods a little too quickly. “I’m fine. I was just… thinking too much.”

Grif nods sagely. “I remember when I used to do that. Sucks.”

“Sure does.” She nods and leans on the desk a little, eyeing the stacks of papers again before glancing back at Grif. “How do you do it?”

Grif blinks at her. “Do what?”

“Relax. You said you were on medication?” Maybe she can get some of that--

“Yeah, I am,” Grif says slowly, scratching at his scruffy chin. “But that’s more for like… the obsessing and compulsing. And it doesn’t just fix all of it, y’know? It helps, but staying chill is more… I dunno, just stuff I do. Or don’t do. Who gives a shit?”

“Well, I kind of do.” Carolina straightens up a little in her chair. Her eyes flick to the door and her teeth find the inside of her cheek. This is a stupid thing to ask. He’s probably just going to laugh at her. 

But if this is going to be her new career, if she’s going to stay here, going to fit in with these people, maybe she has to learn how to be a little more… chill. 

“Do you think you could… teach me?” It sounds dumb even as she says it before he starts staring at her like his eyes are about to pop out of his head. 

“Are you being serious right now?” He snorts and shakes his head before she can answer. “What am I saying--you’re never not serious.”

“Hey!” Carolina jolts a little at that, brows knitting together. “I can make jokes. I can be not serious.”

“Prove it. Do it, right now, make a joke. And none of that knock knock bullshit.”

“Uh.” Crap. Think of a joke. Come on, she knows jokes. She’s heard Tucker and York tell plenty. Oh god, she’s coming up empty. “What’s red and smells like blue paint?”

Grif shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Red paint.”

He laughs, but it’s definitely a pity laugh, especially because he follows it by reaching over and lightly patting her hand. “Who the hell did you hear that one from? Caboose?”

“Junior actually,” she admits, sinking into her chair and pressing her face into her hands. “I swear I’m funny. I’m just… out of practice.”

“No fucking kidding.” Grif looks at her, head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed critically. “But maybe there’s hope for you, young padawan.”

Carolina shifts her hands down and peers at him over her fingertips, brow quirking. “Padawan?”

“Yeah, I’ll be your Jedi Master of learning how to fucking relax. But it’s gonna cost you.”

She cocks an eyebrow at him. “How much?”

Grif rubs at his chin, thinking. “You and Wash are cool, right? I need you to get me the leftovers out of the kitchen.”

That’s easy enough, too easy. Carolina frowns a little, trying to find the catch. There's always one, another shoe about to drop. “You can’t get those yourself?”

“Simmons told Wash not to let me. But you, you’re my golden ticket to free snacks.”

Having leftovers at all means that they’re making more than they need to, that’s waste right there. Wasted time, wasted money. But Carolina bites back the words that barely even sound like her own when she sees the hopeful look on Grif’s face. 

She holds out a hand. “Deal.”

Grif grins and slaps his hand into hers, shaking firmly. His fingers are shorter than hers, but broader, his hand warmer than she expects, and it fits into hers much better than she would have figured. 

He lingers for a while after, talking about this and that, easy as anything. And there’s a voice that tells her she should get to work, send Grif back to the kitchen, a terribly familiar voice. But she notices, with some satisfaction, that as she laughs at Grif’s story about trying to cook using the dishwasher, that it’s grown much softer now, much easier to ignore. The more she laughs, the easier it is to drown out completely. 

She does eventually shoo Grif out, but only after Simmons comes to yell at him twice that they need more help in the kitchen. He gives a little nod as he leaves, making sure they’re on for their first lesson after work on Monday and she sees him off with a little wave. The office is weirdly quiet without him there.

So Carolina pulls out her phone and scrolls down to Vanessa’s name. It’s complicated, but it’s not going to get less complicated avoiding her. She takes a deep breath and hits call. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess who finally got around to updating this! I'm so, so sorry for the delay on this chapter. I'm still very much invested in this fic and I will get it done someday, but updates are going to be sporadic until I've finished In Screaming Color. But thank you so, so much for the feedback on this fic! I'm a little out of practice writing Carolina, so I apologize if she's inconsistent here. Getting back into writing this has been super fun though, so hopefully it won't be too long until the next chapter when we get some familiar faces bothering Kimball.


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